Sam Alone

by clair beaubien

I have no idea what this is. Less than a story. More than a poem. But at least my Muse agreed to let me write it.

Sam.
Alone.
Sitting on a concrete floor.
Against a concrete wall.

In a cellar.
A dungeon.
A warehouse.
His own mind.
Nowhere.
He didn't know.

Knees up, arms around them.
Sitting.
Waiting.
Alone.

Dean, vapor, memory, nothing.
Dissipated as soon as he appeared.
As soon as he appeared to sit next to Sam.
No crisis; no reason to stay.

Cas immediately after.
Appeared and dissipated.
There and gone.

Dad stood back.
Watched.
Less vapor, more memory.
Dissipated as a golden burst, sparks,
Mom,
Spiraled across the nothing.

Others,
More nothings,
Thin vapors, weak memories,
Burst and dissipated.

Staring.
Gauging.
Dissolving.
Gone.

Sam waited.
Waiting was his.
His job.
His talent.
His charge.

Waited on a concrete floor.
Against a concrete wall.
His own mind.
Nowhere.

Sam waited.
Alone.

A/N: I have no clue what this is. I have no clue what it means. (But here it is!)