The umbrella stand and its ethereal owner, Zachery, sit on the corner as they did the day he died. He tries to sell his wares, but nobody hears his pleas.

—

Zachery exhaled a soft sigh. His transparent form shivered with memories of the coldness that had embraced him on the day of his death. Three years, and I’m still here. Why? His phantom fingers opened an unseen umbrella to create a tiny refuge of dryness in the relentless drizzle. “Umbrellas. Who’ll buy my umbrellas?” he called.

Nobody heard. Nobody saw. Everyone in the grey city rushed by, eyes squinting, boots sploshing through puddles.

A flit. A flutter. A feathery form fought to stay aloft.

Up. Down. Sideways.

It lurched. It careened. It plummeted to the wet sidewalk.

Zachery leaned forward. An African grey! I always wanted one. Poor thing. Why is it outside in this dismal weather? The parrot labored to reach the shelter of the invisible umbrella. Once there, it struggled to keep its sad eyes open. It cowered, beset by violent shivers, wings pulled close and feet tucked in.

A single shudder convulsed the bewildered creature.

And it succumbed to its final sleep.

The rain stopped. An explosion of sunlight streamed through nearby skyscrapers to create a rainbow that ended at the silent body. Passersby picked up the carcass. “Hurry! Let’s get it to the vet. Maybe somebody there can save it.”

Zachery heaved a sad sigh and closed his unseen umbrella. Poor little thing.

He felt pressure on his shoulder. A beak caressed his face. A downy smoothness touched his chin.

He turned his head and smiled at the spirit bird. Then he soared into the warmth of the sun with his new companion.