I gazed out at the sparkling water, and listened to the seagulls squawk and tide crash. It was a perfect scene. Almost. The last time I had sat here, on this rusty red bench it was with Grams. Now, all that was left was a ghost, a whisper, of what existed. The setting sun bathed everything in halcyon glow, creating a beautiful, angelic aura that made it feel like magical was a tangible, living thing. It was as if this scene had been made for one of those romance novels with that teen pretty girl meets that charming boy by the ocean and everything works out perfectly. The breeze was blowing in that laidback way and the salty spray of the ocean was refreshing and tangy. In my mind though, it was all different. Everything was crackly and staticy like an old movie, and all the sounds were garbled and distant. Everything had been like that since Grams had passed away, "died in peace" my sardonic step-father had said.