And so, the weeks, months roll by. Time, after all, means nothing to Arthur any longer—and so he drifts, amusedly watching the blonde baby's antics in his lucid moments and drifting without anchor the remainder of the time.
He was a spirit with nothing to cling to, a drifter in the truest sense of the word. The other ghosts were kind, and he didn't mind their company—but he didn't seek it, either. He simply didn't care about the goings-on of the outside world. He preferred his quiet, dark corners.
There's nothing to live for when you're already dead.
Word Count: 100
Publish Date: May 31, 2016