He stared at the photograph atop the fireplace mantle, the faces of his dear family. No joy rested on their lips, except for little Nicole. Her grin made his lips curl. Such a happy child; his niece was ever bright-eyed and full of pep.
Such a drab outfit for sunny weather, he thought, inspecting his attire—a stark contrast to the shade of everyone else’s fashion. But he supposed that was normal. Benny knew he was a dark splotch of spilled ink on the family tree. Everyone did. But they loved him anyway.
Tears came from the kitchen and he followed their somber melody. There sat his beloved sister, clutching the knit hat she made him last Christmas. The rest of the family milled about, releasing their own grief. It surprised him to see them dressed like himself—fit for a funeral.
His crying sister looked up to Mother. “I can’t believe he’s gone.”
∼ Lee Andrew Forman
© Copyright Lee Andrew Forman. All Rights Reserved.
Pen of the Damned 
Cool, a quick little uppercut of a story.
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A nice twist at the end, excellent.
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Mwahahahaha! Benny’s actually still around in his ghostly form, maybe getting up to some mischief. Now he knows, they never gave up on him!
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