𝐁𝐋𝐈𝐍𝐃𝐄𝐃 {𝐒𝐢𝐦𝐨𝐧 '𝐆𝐡𝐨𝐬𝐭' 𝐑𝐢𝐥𝐞𝐲}

𝐄𝐏𝐈𝐋𝐎𝐆𝐔𝐄 / 𝐄𝐗𝐓𝐑𝐀

I didn't expect so many people to show up to this funeral. There were even faces I didn't recognize. They sure didn't know Simon like I did. Nor did they know me.

We stood solemnly behind a tree, the grieving audience's backs faced toward us. The officiant? Price of course. Qualified and religious? Absolutely not.

141 knew we were alive, but our past lives have died and they have finally accepted that we were moving on. We were both KIA, "officially".

Faking a death can either be hard or easy. Depends on who you are as a person and how many people are looking for you.

Ghost has debts, I have debts, so that means we fall into the hard part of this.

The house was located in northern England. There wasn't much surrounding it besides dirt roads and grass for miles. We had a little garden which consisted of tomatoes, lettuce, and carrots. We had cows too, but he refused to name them for obvious reasons. The ducks that visited us weren't necessarily ours, but they hung around so much that they found us pleasurable humans.

I had also forced him to get two dogs, and eventually convinced him to get a cat.

I slowly started to convince him to go to therapy with me. We both needed it after the life we threw ourselves into. The change from war to peace was difficult for him. He had many sleepless nights where he would sit out on the porch steps just listening to the crickets chirp.

When he did get sleep though, he would always wake up in a cold sweat, or I would wake up before he did because of his yelling and mumbling.

The first year was torture.

I was able to forget about everything after a few months but I could tell in Simon's head his dreams were very real.

He would walk through his own head, gun in hand as he stared out of his own eyes at a battlefield. He would constantly talk in his sleep, yelling for backup or wincing from pain that he didn't actually feel.

Occasionally when he woke up he would check to see if he was still alive. Sometimes he would even walk over to the mirror leaning against our wall and lift up his shirt slightly to see if he actually got shot.

It was like a broken record playing in his head and whenever he closed his eyes that record would transform into a projector just for his personal torture.

After the therapy sessions, things started to get a lot better.

For the first time, he was soft. He would open up to me about how he was feeling in that very moment and he would ask how I was doing. He tried not to yell or raise his voice and he especially tried not to get angry.

I felt like I was with a new person. In a good way.

Simon would laugh and run around the field with the dogs. His eyes were brighter now, a change from the dull and sad brown he used to have.

Now, they were almost a honey color. Full of life and joy.

We rarely discussed having kids, but the times we did we always came to the conclusion that they weren't right for us. Although I used to see myself one day becoming a mother, I'm not sure that is me anymore.

It's certainly not Simon either.

For now, we will stick with our dogs and cats.

—

"What chapter are you on now?"

I look up to see Simon entering the dimly lit bedroom. He gives me a small grin, waiting for my answer.