He heard someone calling his name, someone tugging at his hands. He looked up, rubbing his eyes to get a better look. He smiled, eyes closing. He had seen it, now he didn't need to see any more.
Someone was cleaning up his arms, almost as if it would make a difference. The scars were evidence of what the world was doing to him, yet it was forbidden to show. The blood was evidence of what the world was craving, yet to spill your own was a sin. The tears were evidence of the meaning of the world, yet someone always wiped them away.
There was no reason to go on. Rose tinted glasses were thrown in the bin, morals and values stripped bare, body bled dry, arms heavy, eyelids drooping, heart stopping. There was no need now, nothing more to continue for.
The world was grey, dull, empty. Life was evil, chaos, a burden. Alfred F. Jones had sworn life was beautiful and he was wrong, so very very wrong.
Someone pressed the ring into his palm and he silently picked it up, placing it on his wedding finger.
This was all that was needed, no ceremony, no tears of joy or sweet kisses.
No huge gathering, deceleration of love through sickness and health, for rich or for poor, for better or for worse, for this was simply a bond of need, a kind soul pitying the fool who had lost to life.