As he walked past the weeping willows the memories nearly destroyed him. Memories that flooded his mind and made him choke, memories of the fiction he let him himself believe. The wind blew violently as the dust of the untraveled road traveled up into his nostrils and made him cough. He caught a leaf blowing in the wind’s fury and wished he could float away. He continued forward, purposely not looking back. His step was staggered and his shoulders sank as if buckets of water had been weighing him down for much longer than his time in this place. A horsefly landed on his hand and sank it’s little jagged teeth into his flesh and then flew away, leaving blood flowing from the puncture. Life was still clutching onto the wreck of a human he had become, living for nothing and no one. The heavens began to let their tears fall freely upon him, as if it were all such a terrible waste. Running low on hope, inspiration and reason he spun around looking off to the horizon where the sun still shone and muttered “what’s left” as he stepped off the cliff.