This just came to my mind randomly while lying in bed so I just wrote. A short little one shot, about my poor little unappreciated baby Matt Donavan.
Matt, The Lost Skeleton Boy
Being dead isn't always being in the ground, with grass being your sky and earth being your bed, living in a limbo of time with no tomorrows or yesterdays. Being dead wasn't about funerals and flowers, with soft words and whispers of remembrance. It wasn't about vigils or wakes. It wasn't looked lovely in your casket. Death was about decaying from the inside, about the emptiness as you seemly stopped being you.
Matt felt his insides crumple into dirt, his bones into dust. He was a sack of spoiled meat masking the stink with cheap cologne and no one came close enough to notice. His muscles decomposed slowly which explained why every smile seemed to sag lower until he simply didn't smile at all, but no one came close enough to notice. His joints rusted like unkempt steel as his motives were robotically and unnatural at their very best. He was a vessel whose soul slipped into the night months ago but then again no came close enough to notice.
No one came close.
But he didn't expect them to, who stared into the darkness of space when the brilliant stars that illuminated it were more eye-catching to see? He was worn appliance, functional not fancy in a store filled with the new and shiny whose list of features far exceeded his own but he remained, pushed to the back until eventually he was placed in storages among the dark and unwanted. He didn't voice one word of complaint but then again he didn't voice anything at all. His lips were sworn shut and the silence was all that he knew, in a world of chaotic music he was the briefest of pauses that separate the loud notes.
No one came at all.
All his interactions were based on convenience; he was a pawn, disposable. He was never meant to meet the other side of the board and be crowned king; he was meant to be captured, to serve some higher purpose or at least that is what they had told him but he wasn't meant to be a loyal little solider.
He was simply a lost skeleton boy.
He existed in world of chaos but he lived in a world of silence. He was coddled by the white noise, sung to sleep by the sound of the silence. He was curled into himself like a wounded deer, simply waiting for death hoping that his bones would one day feed the forest that he was birthed to.
No one of them noticed that one day Matt died.