Undeniable-oneshot

You think it's kind of funny, in a way. You didn't really know the guy, though, in life or in death. He'd never mattered to you anyways; he had his place in the social hierarchy and you had yours. You have yours still, because, unlike Nathan, you are very much alive. And yet here you are, inthe graveyard, the earth over his grave still fresh, flowers only slightly dead, talking to him. He can't hear you--you were never under the pretense he heard much at all from anyone. From what you gather he was stubborn, and that's why he died. He's kinda like a Greek hero almost, his own flaws ultimately led to his untimely downfall. You don't actually kmow how untimely his downfall was, but you assume because it really sucks to die at 16. You tell him this, and you say it like he's an old friend. There's a big difference in how you talk to friends comparatively to how you talk to strangers, you inform him, but you don't say it that way because you don't have to sound smart when you talk to dead people. Because you don't think the dead care much at all. Maybe they do. You apologize to him in case he cares, and to everyone else taking a dirt nap who's ever been offended by the living. You assume that must be a lot of people. You pick at the grass, and you tell him you hate awkward silence. There's a big difference between awkward and comfortable, you explain to him, but you don't really know how to express it so you shrug and then you ask him if he even wanted to be buried. You don't think you'd like it. Too much work, you tell him, as you stand and stretch. Your back kind of aches from being hunched over. Your gravestone is nice, Nate, you tell him, and then ask if you can call him Nate. You shrug after, and pull out a white lily and tell him it's sort of dead but less dead than the flowers there already, and you tell him that people on Facebook sure do miss him, because they say you were a really caring and sweet guy, but maybe they just say that because you're really dead and they can't get over that. People seem to have problems with dead people. Especially young ones like you. Especially tragic ones. Your car was totaled, you tell him, and you wonder if you sound a but remorseful. That sucks, you tell him, because even if he can't use it destruction of property always gets you down. You tell him his friend is in a coma but he has hope, so you tell him not to feel bad because at least he still has a chance. You're glad you could talk to him, catch him on his own, because usually when you pass by the cemetary when you walk home there's a bunch of people mourning, but you suppose after like five weeks people have lives to attend to. Being forgotten sucks, you tell him, and it's true. You also tell him they might name like a bridge after him or something because his dad's the mayor, so he's a little big deal. You also tell him it sucks he isn't able to play baseball anymore, and you know it because you heard it on the announcements once that he scored a homerun that won a game near the end of the season. He was in your class so people cheer and you tell him he had a really nice smile, the kind that makes other people smile for some reason. Smiles are like yawns or like laughter, they spread to other people. You tell him that had you known him better, you would be half in love with him like everyone else seems to be. But you're not. You tell him that your name is Ethan and your middle name is awkward because its Marion and most people don't know that, but you tell Nate. You tell him you trust him even though you only met a couple of times when he was alive. You just seem like that kind of guy, you inform him and smile a little to yourself, I never saw you pick on anyone at least, you say and you're doing it again. I'm sorry, I just got infected with dead person syndrome. You tell him and then look at his name apologetically. I heard you were mean to your sister though, you amend because you're positive you'd want someone to do that for you when you're dead. I'll remember you like a person, you promise him as you examine the grass stains on your knees. Your backpack is heavy. I'll see you later Nate, don't forget to stay dead because we don't need a zombie apocalypse, you say and chuckle at your own joke. You then proceed to plod off to the crypt at the end of the lot, and disappear into the murky depths. You call for your parents and it echoes. But they're home, you know, they're always home.
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Just me rambling I'll leave this here. Also I know you're going to tell me I need to put quotations but it's just a style of writing okay, artisitic liberties if you will. Otherwise tell me what you think of you wish.