They were all dead, watching him. Watching as he layed his head back against the soft grass, staring up at the millions of lights dancing around. All the lights he had ever seen were dead men.

Gone but not fully.

At least that’s what his mother had told him. Told him stories of her loved ones passing but still being there, in the back of her mind and in all the lights surrounding her. Comforting her during hard times.

It was silly, he had thought when she first mentioned it. Lights were just objects, nothing more.

Until the day his mother died. That was the day he realized that believing in the lights, the dead, was comforting to say the least.