The night is the winter, the morning and evening are the spring and fall, and the noon is the summer. The cold early winter wind dried the tears on his face and made his cheeks stiff.
His eyes puffy and red, cheeks stained with his own tears, as he ignored the thought he had to wipe them away, the thought he had lurking in the back of his mind to remain strong and brave.
His wife's beautiful, rosy, face appeared in front of him, his young eyes starting from her, to the sweet face of his baby girl. Rattled in her mother's arms.
Her pale, winter skin, and hair as brown as earth itself, followed by the violet plumbs, that made up her tiny little eyes.
He wasn't able to say what he wanted to either of them, but inside, as he stared at them both, muted and born without the use of his voice, he was imagining,
the both of them heard every word he'd said, as a sweet, whimpering, smile came to his pale, sickly face.
He was dying. Everyone knew that.
He knew he was, he'd been told weeks ago, His blue eyes were colder than the sky on a winter morning in Virginia, as he thought about the fist visit he'd ever taken to the emergency room,
where he'd been taken too the first time his sickness progressed. How his emotions couldn't ever get him prepared for the moment he was facing.
His families soft faces, glaring at him, his wife's angry expression, and his little daughters smiling face, as she waved to him, with such tiny little fingers.
Mike Vincent, knew he was going to die.
He felt it inside him, the push of death, the lingering taste of it along his taste buds, through every single beat his heart made inside his chest, he could feel it pulsing,
throbbing through his skin, as he laid his hand upon the side of his body. His muscles were growing sore, and outside the weather only grew colder.
He was going to succeeded in the deed he had formed in the back of his dark, gray, dead mind.
The light brown trench coat he had on, moved slowly from the small gust of wind that snuck in from the small living room window, he took his eyes away from his family,
and turned them to look down.
Trailing the side of his coat softly, his eyes went soft and peaceful as a smile came to his face, a smile that would soon rid of the taste of death he had been tasting for six months.
The chilled winter wind whipped back one side of the trench coat, but only a little bit, till he pushed the rest back with his hand, revealing what appeared to be a sword tucked against his leg,
strapped, trapped there, by a black strap holding it tightly in place.
He shoved the door open with all his might, revealing the steely skies of winter and the grey cement curb outside.
He held himself firmly, staring at nothing but the cold, image of winter's wind, and snow outside, as he risked looking back, knowing his heart would surely break the more times he looked back,
and saw his little daughters face, followed by his wife's disapproval of the deed he was about to accomplish.
As the door shut firmly closed behind his vanished figure, Grace Vincent remained still, frozen, the flashing memory of white light consuming her, as she replayed the moment he'd gone,
over and over. Harp Vince, their little child, laid asleep in her mothers arms, as her violet eyes opened slowly, letting out a small bit of laughter, as her tiny hands found her mothers face.
Holding onto her mother's cheeks, as tears suddenly landed upon her skin.
Harp was to young to question why her mother was crying, to young to understand what it was her father truly needed with a sword......
''She'll never know...'' Grace whispered under her breath, as she nuzzled her head against her daughters small head. ''She'll think its just a disappearance, that he went missing....
I'll come up with something, if she gets to close.''