Note: My attempt at a challenge, to write a drabble in exactly 100 words.
Disclaimer: Hinton owns all.
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Johnny didn't like to remember the past too much and Mrs. Curtis thought it was unhealthy. So, he always went by himself.
Grass and weeds had grown over his grave long ago, smothering the cracked headstone. He wondered how much of himself was left in the dark box, deep beneath the ground. His lip quirked at the lipstick smudge near his name. Sylvia.
He reached out for the red mark, pretending for a moment he could feel … Something. Anything. Seeing ghosts was bad enough for some people, yet he didn't think he would be facing his own ghosts.
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