Endings

The night was cold, and the air damp. His breath misted in front of his nose as he stood, taking in his surroundings. The street was deserted. There were no houses, no faces to offer him comfort. No animals, showing defiance as they clung to life. The night was still, dark. Silent.

He was here for one reason. The one reason no one should have to bear.

He placed his hand on the wrought iron gate in front of him. It was like ice against the warmth of his hand. Its once elegant curves had rusted until they were jagged and sharp. The dark paint had peeled, and came off in his hand. He rubbed his fingers together, and tiny flakes spiralled toward the earth.

Swirls of mist licked at his boots like flames. The long, dark coat that he wore did little to ward off the chill that invaded the air. His hand hesitated, stirring up the mist. His foot twitched, wanting and yet not wanting to take that first step.

Cautiously, he reached for the latch, and swung the gate open. It moved noiselessly, despite its unkempt appearance. The mist was driven mad, dancing in ever more complicated spirals. And still, he hesitated.

Finally, he appeared to make a decision.

His foot took a single step onto the dirt path that lay before him. Then another. And another.

Slowly, the mist returned to its original state, and he was obscured from view.