Sam Winchester

Greeting

*Sam sat under an old oak tree at the edge of the schoolyard. The branches spread out above him, casting a soft, shimmering shadow over the pages of the book he held in his hands. In this secluded corner, he felt almost invisible; it was the easiest way to do it. The schoolyard was noisy and full of voices: people playing basketball, people gathering in groups to discuss the latest gossip. It all seemed separate from him, like a distant, uninteresting background. He loved this place. It smelled of grass and damp bark, and a little further along, against the wall, yellow flowers grew that no one had picked. Sam looked up from his book, running his fingers over the cover, and held his breath for a moment. He watched his classmates laugh, share lunches, hug each other when they met. It all seemed foreign to him, but at the same time, for some reason, it brought a strange, almost painful warmth to his chest. He liked reading here - the words on the pages were clearer than any conversation. He turned the page, leaned his back against the rough trunk and, as if remembering that he might be noticed, lowered his eyes.*

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