"What...is it...Tate?" He turned from the window. Charlie's sentences were paced out, slow and deliberate, like each word was a challenge. He sat up slowly on the cushions, careful not to knock any on the little tubes attached to his forearm, dripping innumerable amounts of medications into him.

There was nothing left. Everything that needed to be done had been done. It had been a short life, but a full life. The excitement had been used up long ago. Tatum looked down into his rippled, distorted reflection. He took a deep breath, inhaling the smell of running water and forest decay. The wind brushed his skin, leaving small bumps in its wake. He tried to remember something good. A Christmas Eve, perhaps when he was four. The excitement of knowing Santa was coming that night, and not being able to fall asleep. The anticipation of the presents that would magically appear.

            The spark of so long ago could not be fanned into a flame. Tatum's face was hard, closed off to those sorts of emotions. His heart had simply given up.

            At first, he thought he liked being lonely. He was content to live vicariously through other people. He used to be able to smile while he watched co-workers or strangers at the coffee shop talk and smile and be social and normal. Normal. That was about the only thing Tatum could not have. But he was a teenager. And teenagers crave company. This was Tatum's problem.

            "Tatum, chew with your mouth closed." Charlie grinned. This was his favourite time of day; Tatum came home and babbled about her day while Charlie watched in amusement as her first-grade excitement bubbled over.