Saturn - a Jyler one-shot

Saturn

Today's my birthday, and I walk these lonely streets alone, my only company being the snow beneath my feet, the stars above my head, and her ghost walking alongside me.

It was like she was still alive. The snow crunched as she walked; she breathed, she blinked, she slept. And that was the worst thing. I would always forget she's gone.

I sighed, sending a puff of white smoke into the still night air.

I stopped, deciding to sit on a snow-covered bench.

She sat beside me, sitting criss-cross applesauce like a little preschooler.

Most people who have lost someone they loved would give anything to have their ghost with them, but, ironically, her presence only makes me lonelier.

When I forget she's dead, I always try to hug her or give her a little peck on the cheek, only for the action to meet empty air.

Then the realization and grief falls on me like an anvil, bringing that feeling of complete and utter loneliness at its peak.

It was a cruel cycle; the curse she left for me as she let out her last breath.

I looked over at her ghost, seeing a translucent form of someone I loved so very dearly, and missed so very terribly.

I began to remember all the things that escaped her mortal lips, a soft smile appearing on my face.

You know how people ask if the world will end with a bang or with a whisper? I think it'll end in a whisper, because life ends in a whisper. Everyone passes away from this life once that whispery breath leaves their lips. So wouldn't the world end the same way, since all of our lives would end as well?

Her ghost's lips moved along with the memory playing in my head, like a hologram. That was another thing that upset me. It wasn't her. It was just a stand-in.

It was like a program, coded and instructed to do whatever it needs to do, and to do it willingly and without emotion.

My smile faded as I returned to the day she became nothing but that stand-in, that program, that ghost.

She'd always been sick, but that day was the sickest she had ever been.

Right before I went in to see her for the last time, the doctors told me that she wouldn't live to see the night cover the city with its cold, dim blanket.

I tried to stay optimistic as I entered her room that was painted orange with the rays of the sunset filtering through the window.

"Hey," I greeted softly, mustering a smile.

"I know," She had said glumly, a sad smile on her face.

My smile fell into a frown, my heart drifting down to my feet like a feather.

"Come sit over here," She invited.

I shuffled to the chair beside her hospital bed, sitting down.

I kept my gaze downward, counting the black spots in each of the patterned tiles on the floor.

"Take my hand," She said, the wind chimes of her voice ringing out a sad tune.

I forced myself to look up and see her sickly form.

She was as pale as a ghost, her eyes bleak and misty.

I took her hand in mine, her skin cold and clammy.

"I'm not afraid," She said. "I'm just sad I won't be able to see the stars one last time."