"I'll be... joining you soon." An old man with gray hair wheezed. He stood in front of three graves, squinting against the bright sunlight. His gray hair had once been a vibrant blonde. His once blue eyes had been dulled by the pain and duration of life. His cheerful face was scarred and wrinkled, time having taken it's toll. "I just... have a... few more things... to do." A coughing fit ended his sentence. He looked at the first gravestone, the second, and finally the third, the freshest grave. Tears came to his eyes as he softly said, "Wait for me... just a little... longer."
Coughing a bit more, he looked around at the other graves, recognition occasionally flickering in his expression. Staring down at the hard packed dirt in front of his feet, he sighed. "It's not fair..." he mumbled, "that I'm the only... one left. It's not fair... that you all... left me behind."
He zipped up his black sweater vest until his neck was protected by the wind, the worn wool provided a weak but effective protection. His hand reached up to his left shoulder, touching the rusted silver wolf head.
Turning around, Cloud Strife made his way out of the graveyard.
The next day, after a sleepless night, he headed out from his small apartment. Turning around in the doorway, he took one last look at the pictures on the walls. The smiling faces of the family he once had looked back at him. He knew with certainty he would not enter this room again.
Closing the door, he felt inside his pocket for the two envelopes. They were safely hidden in the confines of the dark fabric. From his other pocket, he pulled out his old riding goggles. The right eyes was cracked and both sides were scratched, but he could never bring himself to replace them. The memories contained in the tinted plastic were precious.
Reaching for the walking stick he left hanging outside, he started on his long, final journey.
The first house he reached was small but cozy looking. The outer walls had been painted over at least twice, small spots here and there revealing the old vibrant red. The peach color reflected the bright, cheerful sunlight.
In the window on the right, he could see a sweet mother in her late 30's, playing with a young child. The mother's light brown hair had been tied back into a long ponytail, hanging past her shoulders. The child was the spitting image of her, brown eyes and shoulder-length brown hair. The child's hair was tied back with a faded pink bow that was frayed at the edges. She had a cheerful smile that reminded Cloud of earlier days.
Walking up to the front gate, he reached over to the mailbox and gently opened it, placing the letter underneath the bills and the home improvement magazine.
Marlene would walk down the path leading to the front gate, open the mailbox, and retrieve the letter two days after he died. She would stare at the ivory envelope for a moment, then take it back inside and slam the front door shut behind her. He husband would place his arm around her shoulders as she opened the letter. He would comfort her as she cried. Their daughter would wonder what was wrong. She wouldn't understand until much later, in her teenage years, when she would look back at her childhood and remember the old man her mother always embraced as though he was an old friend.
Turning away from the house for the last time, Cloud walked down the empty street.
The second house he reached was a larger house. Two floors, wide driveway leading into a two car garage. Green grass painted the lawn surrounding a clean cement pathway to deep mahogany, unpainted door. On the right side of the house was a low fence separating the house from the backyard. Cloud could see a thin wire connecting to a tree. On the wire hung white laundry sheet and clothing, flapping in the gentle breeze.
The window farthest to the left on the second floor revealed who Cloud had been looking for. He was sitting at a desk, the window at his left side. His head was moving in a rhythmic, side to side motion, as though he was reading something. His brown hair had been cut shorter, barely landing above his ears. Facial hair, thin and a light brown color, had appeared on his now mature face. He was still young, no more than forty, though gray hairs were appearing, laced into his brown hair. Cloud couldn't see the dark bags hanging under his blue eyes. Age had taken it's toll, leaving him no longer looking like the young boy Cloud remembers so well.
Smiling, Cloud slowly walked to the front door, trying to keep his walking stick from making too much noise. He didn't want to be noticed. Leaning on his walking stick, wheezing slightly from the two steep steps to the front door, he reached into his pocket and pulled out the last letter. Wedging the walking stick underneath his left arm with the rusted handle sticking out only a foot, he opened the thin rectangular mailbox on the wall and dropped the letter inside. Backing away slowly, he brought his walking stick down, turned on his heels, and walked back down the pathway.
He turned left, and headed away from the house, losing his final chance to speak to the man.
The next morning, while heading off to work, Denzel take the mail. He wouldn't check it until later that night. He would take the mail up to his office, the room with the desk near the window, and read the letter before dinner. He wouldn't cry that night. He wouldn't cry until the next night, after Marlene stopped by his house and cried into his shoulders, showing him the letter she received. He would wait until she was gone. He would wait until his wife was asleep. He would wait until he had closed the door to his bedroom, walked down the hall, opened the door to the guest bedroom, closed it behind him, and was sitting on the ground. Then he would cover his mouth to muffle sobs, and let every tear out.
The hill was quiet. There was nobody around for miles. The truck that had brought Cloud was being driven away, kicking up dust behind it. Yellow flowers surrounded the memorial he had kept clean and colorful for years. The buster sword, now rusted, remained there despite all the weather that had happened throughout the years. Gently touching the handle, Cloud smiled.
"I know it's been years," He said softly, coughing halfway. "but we'll finally be a team again." Kneeling down, he dug a narrow hole in the ground, a foot deep, and planted the walking stick with the rusted handle, filling the rest of the dirt and packing it down.
Turning around, he sat with his knees up and leaned against the rusted metal sword. Gently resting his head, his gray hair falling over his forehead, he closed his eyes, and fell asleep, never to awaken again.
He felt as though he was being lifted into the sky, leaving his withering body behind. The years of sorrow and aging melted away from him and he felt young again, his hair blonde, his eyes a vibrant blue, his face young. Three figures standing together in the sunlight smiled at him from the sky, waiting to welcome him into their arms. He smiled back, ready to be together once more with the three people he had missed. The four were finally reunited.