We come as a whole, only to be divided little by little, and we rebuild ourselves to be whole again. Some of us turn into a magnificent mosaic, and those who couldnât, like âhimâ, put up a make-believe sentiment as long as we can, until it consumes us so much that weâve completely deluded ourselves from what is real.
    And heâ he is one of those people; one of those who have lost in illusion. He wants to find his way, and be on track; to find out that the endless haunting is nothing but a nightmare on his bedroom floor as sweats drip down his forehead and temples.
    Today though, he looked happy. His calm demeanor gave away so much hope that this day would be a little different. The pair of light brown eyes of his was glinting, like that of diamond necklace of his grandmother. His skin looked healthy pale, while his chocolate brown hair was turned slightly sideways. He was wearing a black shirt with Oklahomaâs initial on it, which he loved very much.
    I was calmly occupying the wooden chair in their family patio with a cup of coffee on a wooden table sitting before me, which he had just served. It has turned cold. He called out, making his way across me with a cup of coffee of his. He sat down and greeted me. I remained silent.
    âThere are lots of gray clouds, but it feels like itâs going to be a great day,â he stated, taking a deep breath just as the Oklahoma breeze wavered pass us. âDonât you think?â
    The place was wrapped in a serene silence.
    He smiled at me and glanced at the flowers in the garden; at the grass; at the deserted streets; at the sky, and then at me. He started talking about a lot of things. He talked about how he found it hard to teach me how to play the piano. He talked about how he loved it when kids teased me back in primary school because then I would cry nonstop, and heâd get the chance to give me a piggy back ride, which always made me smile. And he loved making me smile. He talked about how we used to sing at the top of our lungs until we would no longer have the energy to even open our eyes.
    Realizing my silence, he gave me a suspicious look, then he noticed my phone which lay beside my cold coffee, snatching it from where it was. He smiled, unlocking my phone.
    âYou should buy a new phone. I mean, come on. This already looks ancient!â he exclaimed with a hint of playfulness. âSeriously though, if you wonât buy yourself one, I will. And youâre not allowed to complain.â
    He tried its camera, taking a shot of his cup of coffee. And then he tried shooting himself with it, purposely trying to make it candid when it was not. It captured his captivating smile and the skies filled with clouds that floated calmly.
    âYou know what,â he said, staring at my phone as he tapped its screen. âI think making this black and white would add a really good dramatic effect. I mean, Iâm already handsome, but adding a black and white filter would probably make me more handsome. I donât even know how thatâs possible.â
    He showed me the photograph. I smiled, because indeed, he was right. He looked at me smugly and told me how good-looking he was more than me, which was true and I silently agreed to. He started telling me stories again, and I listened to him attentively.
    âGreyson?â someone called out.
    It was his mother. Oh, how much I have missed her. I craned my neck to look at her, but I didnât greet her; instead, I sat there looking back and forth her and Greyson.
    âOh, hey Mom!â he shouted with enthusiasm, signaling for her to sit down with us. âI was just telling my best friend how I beat him when it comes to face value!â
    Auntâs troubled face didnât go unnoticed. She stared at him sadly, feeling her heart pound against her chest. She walked to us ever-so-slowly. And when she finally stood before us, she took his face on her hands, staring at him eye to eye.
    âGreyson, sweetheart, listen to me, okay?â She took a deep breath. âHeâs never coming back, okay? Iâm sorry. You have to understand. You have to be strong; for me, for your father, for your brother, for your sister, for yourself⌠and for your best friendâ who passed awayâŚâ
    Greysonâs eyebrows scrunched in confusion and anger. âWhat the fuck are you saying heâs dead? Heâs fucking rightââ He motioned across, but I was nowhere in sight. ââthereâŚâ
    As if on cue, the color in place had disappeared, and like the photograph on the phone which lay on the wooden table, had become black and white, minus the lively smile he pulled. He shook his head in confusion, rising from his seat abruptly as his emotions of anger, mourning, and confusion had become too much to handle.
    âHe was just there!â he shouted, not believing what was happening. âHe even brought his phone with him! I even made him coffee!â
    By that time, tears of anger were pouring down his pale cheeks, his cheeks shaking. Aunt was crying, too, but her tears were made of dejection and sorrow. What he didnât know was he was the one who brought the phone and placed it across him, and that heâd been talking to the wind.
    âPlease, Greyson, donât do this. I donât wanna submit you to a mental asylum ever again⌠Your best friend is dead. He was one of the students who got killed by another student who committed a school shootingâŚâ
    He stood there, and as if betraying himself, his knees wobbled and gave up. He knelt down the grass, pulling his hair as he shouted at the top of his lungs, the veins on his neck becoming visible.
    But I could only stand and watch, for I was only a ghost; an apparition; a remnant; a small remaining of something, which would never ever be whole again. The last of me; the last of us.
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