One shot.

He watched as the telescope drifted upwards, way above his head, the goo balls he had watched over finally departing and discovering the truth. A single tear formed in the corner of his eye as he smiled up at the sky, snow slowly drifting down and settling on the hard, cracked dirt. He took his top hat off and held it up in the air, leaning on his umbrella heavily, looking at what he had achieved after all those years. His goggles prevented the flurry of white flakes from cascading into his eyes, but he had to wipe his thick grey mustache of the delicate things, quickly setting the red ribboned hat back on his head and, leaning heavily on the umbrella, hobbled over to the weather balloon waiting on the hillside. As he climbed in the wicker basket and hooked his umbrella on to one of the many strings holding the balloon to the basket he thought something he had never thought before: why did he stay? He could of joined the goo balls on their journey to the future, but he chose to stay in the barren land and smog filled city under the dictatorial iron fist of Tomorrow Corporation whose eyes watched everyone. He smiled as he tugged his coat tighter around him; The Sign Painter, The Weatherman, it was his job, and always would be. He lead people to the next land, helped them on their way but never went with them, it wasn't what he wanted or what he was supposed to do, he felt it. And he had a reason to stay. He landed on the roof of one of the many seemingly identical houses and tied his transport up. His bones creaking in the cold, he lifted a heavy iron hatch up and dropped into the single room below, the trapdoor slamming closed after him.
A little girl scurried away from the roaring flames, a bright grin on her face and she tackled him around his middle. "Grandad!" She squealed into his coat.
He chuckled and squeezed her happily. "Hello my little Sugar Plums".