Long Ago...

Steve was always known as a grey man.

He had pale, porcelain-like skin and black hair. Even though he was 70, his hair was still as full and colorful as it had been when he was 15. He wasn't sure why.

Steve always had a black cane and a black suit with a white button-down. His dress shoes were dark and matte, not shiny from years of being neglected. In summary, he looked like a show from the 1960s.

His house followed suit. The roof was black and the walls were white. Although they might have looked nice once, the paint was now peeling and was sun-bleached more of a grey and yellow. So, the passerby who saw Steve or his house usually hurried on and looked away, afraid of the monotony colours.

Steve also lived alone. He never married, never had children, had no pets or friends. As far as he knew, he was the only person alive in his family. He shoved the world and its inhabitants away and outside of the walls of his house. He never went outside and grew his own food. Steve was convinced he didn't need anyone.

So, Steve would sit in his house and on the scratchy chair, reading the same book. He believed that he was better alone, and that that was the best thing for him. At least, it ought to be.

Right?

;

One day, while Steve sat and read his same, grey book (for the 1,567th time), the doorbell rang. Steve grunted as he stood up, thinking to himself I need to change that sound. He knew he was never going to do it, even as he said it.

Anyway, Steve shuffled his feet over to the floor and slowly unlocked the 12 locks that guarded his door. Click, click, click, click, click, click, click, click, click, click, click, click, CREAK. He opened the grey door and looked outside. There was no person, just a brown, small, cardboard box on the old, worn porch. Steve looked left, then right, then forward, then down at the box. In less than a second, he was back inside with the box in his hands. Steve looked annoyed as he set the box on the rugged carpet. It was as if the brown color made him angry, as if he was mad at the change in color. Slowly, Steve opened the flaps of the box.

Inside the box, there were many things. An old camera, a photo album, an old rose that had been preserved, an old drawing, and a yellowing note. Steve picked up the piece of paper and unfolded it. Under faded ink, Steve could see what it said. "Remember. Love, Jocey" is what he read aloud. Steve felt tears pecking at the back of his eyes and shook his head, grunting again and picking up the box. He trudged over to the closet and set it back, far, far back. Steve did a short grunt of approval and then closed the door.

;

That night, Steve tossed and turned. How did he even get that box? He was sure that everyone had died, long, long ago.

Steve sat up. He slipped into his slippers and then walked quietly down the stairs. As he came to the bottom floor, the moon-light peeking through his heavy curtains, Steve padded his feet carefully to the closet. He turned the knob and opened the door. There the box was, still sitting there and waiting. Slowly, Steve picked it up and moved backward to the couch. When he sat, his hands moved to the flaps and pulled them open, revealing the contents. Steve reached down to the photo book and picked it up.

Steve opened the book and looked inside. "The Moore Family" is what it said. Steve felt his breath hitch as he turned to the first page of pictures. There, staring right at him, was her. His best friend, his partner in crime, his confidante, his sister. It was a picture of him and her. The two young faces had their arms around each other and the girl had two front teeth missing. Her light-brown, curly pigtails poked out of her head and bounced in the boys face. While she had a giant smile on her face, eyes closed, and showing off her newly lost teeth, the boy had a laugh escaping his mouth, one eye closed as the pigtail swooped into his blue eyes. His hair was curly, too, and a light blonde. They looked happy. Steve thought of himself now, wrinkles on his floppy face and dark clothing that made himself look like the grim reaper. Angrily, he shut the book. Steve tossed it back in the box and sat back on the couch.

Reluctantly, Steve sat back up and reached inside again. A little drawing was on a piece of paper. He looked at it. Drawn in mostly crayons and a black pen, a flower was in the middle of the page. The stem was yellow and about an inch thick, along with a green layer scribbled over it. Steve chuckled to himself, remembering when he had colored the stem yellow and his sister had fixed it. The petals were bumpy semi-circles and were each a different color. Under the flower, green bumps formed grass and a swift blue squiggle was the sky. A pen-outlined cloud sat over the sky. Right beside the giant flower, a stick-figure boy and girl stood hand-in-hand. The girl had brown squiggles for hair and the boy had a line over the circle of his head for his hair. They had smiles on their faces and had purple clothing. Her favorite colour, Steve thought. He turned the paper around and gasped.

It was a notice.

A notice form the doctors'.

A surgery notice.

A heart surgery notice.

Steve threw the paper back into the box. He breathed heavily and clutched his chest. Oh, they are SO trying to give me a heart attack, Steve thought angrily. He straightened back up and picked up the rose. The thorns were clipped and the red petals were dark, almost black. Steve felt a tear slip down his cheek. He set it back down and then put his head in his hands.

;

62 years before...

Steve walked and held on tight to his mother's hand. She had balloons in the other, and the bounced as the two walked.

He looked around at the white walls of the hospital. It smelled of hand sanitizer and it was cold. Steve rubbed his free hand on his goose-bumped shoulder and then took a deep breath as he opened the door to his sister's holding area...

;

64 years before...

Steve chased Finley around the yard. They laughed and smiled and playfully screamed. Their mom came out with the camera. "Picture time!"

Steve and Finley skipped to their mom. The bottom of Finley's dress was stained from the grass and Steve's pants were wet from the morning dew. Finley wrapped her arm around her brother, and he did the same. She smiled, showing off her teeth to the camera. Steve laughed as her pigtail touched his eye. The camera shuttered...

;

Back to 62 years before...

Steve walked over to his younger sister and kissed her forehead. She smiled weekly. "Hey, Steve." Finley almost sounded like she was whispering. Steve hugged her lightly. "Here," she said, handing him a piece of paper. "Draw me something."

Steve smiled and drew something with his crayons and his mother's pen. He drew a flower and himself, along with Finley holding his hand. Steve handed it back to her and she smiled. Then, she was wheeled away to the operating room...

;

62 years before...

Steve felt like crying. He had a small, red rose (Finley's favorite) in his hand. His mom ushered him forward and he stood before the grave. He slowly lowered himself and gave her a small kiss on the cheek. Steve almost started crying when he felt her cold skin. They then closed the box, put it slowly in the ground, covered it, and then dusted off the gravestone.

Finley Moore, Loving sister, daughter, and friend. Her life was cut short by heart disease.

Steve stifles a cry and then sets the rose on her stone...

;

Present day...

Steve drove down, although old and grey, to the cemetery. He walked along the snow-covered ground and to a small stone with an angel engraved on it. He kissed it and then set the rose down again.

"I love you, Finley."