He sits on a old park bench, groaning as he lowers his aching bones. It’s cold, bitterly so, but he doesn’t seem to mind.

He relaxes, allowing his weightly burden to pass from his shoulder for a instant. His expression lightens as he sits in the quiet night, relishing in stillness.

He sighs, closing his eyes, appreciating the curtain of dark. His mind quiets, for a brief amazing moment there’s nothing. But soon faces appear in the fog of his mind, flashing through his head, the old, young, sick, heathy.

Millions and millions, billions upon billions.

He remembers them all, their expressions, their smiles and frowns, the fear, the acceptance, hope.

He lets the tears fall, for the first time in many years, he grieves. He holds his head in his hands, his shoulders shaking with sobs. He crys out, in anguish, in anger. He thinks a silent prayer, ghosting the words on his lips. Asking God to pick another, to burden someone else.

He soon grows quiet, his hands clasped in front of him, his eyes locked upward. Towards the stars, towards heaven.

He sighs in acceptance, almost sorrowfully, but a smile graces his lips.

He stands up, knowing it’s time. His bones and muscles protesting as he stretches.

And with a chilly breeze, he’s gone.