The morning is peaceful enough, given the recent spate of thunderstorms. The skies seem grey in the predawn light, and it is early enough that a light mist still hangs in the air. The wind is blowing, not strongly, but it carries with it the faint scent of rain.
At this time of the morning, even the birds are still.
Sam is sitting on the grass, oblivious to the moisture soaking through his jeans. He's shivering, goosebumps pebbling his bare skin. He brushes his fingers lightly, contemplatively, over the etched stone before him, mouthing the words under his breath.
'You don't have to do this, you know.'
Sam nods slowly. 'I know.'
He hears quiet, gentle laughter over his shoulder; the sound barely rises above the wind, and it is far sadder than he remembers.
'It wasn't your fault, Sammy. I don't blame you, I never did.'
'I blame myself,' Sam says simply. 'I should have done something, worked harder, tried harder -'
The pressure on his shoulder is light enough to be imagined, but it makes Sam flinch nonetheless.
'You're too thin, Sam. You need to start eating again.'
'Not anymore,' Sam says into the wind, and hears a soft sigh.
'Sammy. Please.'
'I can't stay,' Sam whispers desperately, pleadingly. 'I can't go forward, and I can't go back. There's nothing left - Dad's gone, you're gone, and I -'
There is a pause.
'I'll wait for you, Sam.'
'You won't have to wait long,' Sam promises.
The sun begins its slow ascent over the horizon, bathing the world in peach and pink and crimson. As the first brilliant rays of light spread across the sky, a single shot startles birds into flight. When the last of the echoes die away, the sunrise falls on Sam's broken, bleeding body, and the freshly dug grave it's sprawled across.
Laughter, much happier than before, drifts back on the wind towards the graveyard as two brothers walk into the distance, sunlight shafting through their already-insubstantial bodies.
They are gone before anyone with eyes - or the ability to see them - notices.