He stepped out of his house, a ghost into the fog. No one noticed, no one ever did.
His life was a life of choices. He had made choices, and walked away. He was never the same again.
Now his world was grey. He faded into the background. He went to work, at a job where no one really he knew he existed. He had once missed work with the flu, and no one even noticed he was gone.
Most people would have been saddened by that, but he simply reveled in it. It fit his plan perfectly. He had wanted to disappear. What better way to do that than right before people's eyes?
He bought a non-descriptive car, he wore non-descriptive clothes. He wore no cologne, or bright colors. His clothing was shades of white, black or grey. The kind that blend into the background. His car was a sedate grey. His world was calm. No disturbances.
He rarely spoke to anyone, although everyone seemed to think he agreed with their views. He would just merely nod his head in affirmation. People took that for agreement and similar beliefs. He just felt it was an appropriate response to someones rant. No one really cared if you listened, they just want to think that you are. He had mastered the art. People would talk, and he just went to another place.
He kept his private life private. He had no friends, he didn't go out, not to the movies, not to eat. He would go to the grocery store for his supplies and not speak to anyone. He coasted through life a ghost. It was what he wanted. He had been hurt so bad once before, he vowed to never let it happen.
His life was exactly what he wanted. Until he had a heart-attack. As he lay on the floor wondering if he would see the next day, he realized that by being alone, he had no one.
And that was his last thought.
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