trent was painfully lonely. he missed being able to talk and to sing, and he hated the immune pain he felt any time he tried to talk. he hated being dead. more so, he hated being alone.

trent had nothing to do besides sit and look out at the lake. his green eyes were half lidded, and he seemed out of it. his hands were fidgeting with his guitar, playing a song he knew by memory. his lips were forming a soft frown.