Hours before the day crew found his body, the old man walked. The silence of the night broke under the shuffling, pad and hush of his threadbare nylon slippers. He walked on into the dark suburban stillness, where winter’s future wove itself through the fabric of his flimsy woolen shawl, though futures didn’t matter, he was padding through the past. Somewhere beyond the fingers of the frost, over dunes a decade old, she called to him. She was where the cherry petals flew, pink succulent blooms carrying the sweetness of days since gone. He walked on into her arms.

 

Inspired by the story Final Destination by Mridubala

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