The cold wind scratched desperately at his face and he could feel the crunching of the delicately frosted grass beneath his clumsy feet. Gravestones stood motionless around him, in the black of the night their inscriptions were unreadable. Somewhere in his mind a thought half-heartedly stirred; how strange, it was, that such maelstrom of emotions and energy and pure life could be marked by a cold, dead stone, alone and abandoned, with only the darkness and the frost for company.
He looked up at the church's exterior and sighed.
Lighting a cigarette, he began to wander back out of the graveyard, back to his warm little home for a while.
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