Left Behind

It was the dead of night during one of the worst winters in years. The snow was thick, and the world was silent as a single man treaded what he knew to be a cobblestone path. Every released breath was visible as he continued forward slowly, his simple boots impeding his progress. If anyone had been out at that time, he would've been spotted immediately. Though his head was covered in snow, and he was hunched over, there was no doubting his impossibly-red hair and tall stature.

He stopped in front of a wrought-iron gate and slowly tugged it open. It released an ear-splitting screech! – having not been used for many years – but he paid it no mind. He had one goal in mind, and any other details went unnoticed. He stomped past rows of dozens of stones, making his way towards the far corner. He sloshed silently down the farthest row, and stopped in front of what seemed to be an unremarkable stone, just like all of the others. Except it wasn't for this man. Not really.

He fell to his knees, not noticing the chill that the powdery-white frozen water brought as it settled around him. His eyes were solely for the stone before him, even as tears started to cloud his vision. He sat in silent contemplation for a few minutes, not caring if anyone – that would brave that storm, of course – saw him crying. He didn't feel the cold in the air; it all seemed to come from in his soul.

The man rested his forehead on top of the stone, slumping as he did so. It was if he could no longer hold himself up anymore. All the strength had fled from his body. His eyes were seemingly lifeless, but, if one stared into them for long enough, a glimmer of pain flickered in them. This was a shell of a man, one whose soul had been torn away.

"I miss you," was all that he uttered. Everything else that needed to be said didn't really need to be said aloud. His drooped shoulders, empty eyes, tears; they said it all. He didn't know how to go on with his life. He was alone, and scared, and hopeless, and sad. He had been left behind.