Ian rested his hand on the cold, hard metal gate. His grey eyes searched the cemetery for any signs of life. None. Good.
He opened the gate slowly, feeling the creak of it in his very bones. Is this what it feels like to be old and weary? Ian sighed. He would never get this old and still be living to feel it.
He felt his legs moving of their own accord, propelling him into the dreary grey place that reeked of death and tears. He smelt the scent of rotting flowers somewhere into the distance, and turned his head away from it, moving deeper into the cemetery.
Finally, he stopped, and kneeled down before the gravestone of his father. He felt tears coming to his eyes.
"I'm going to be buried next to you, when I die in ten hours' time," Ian whispered to the bones of his father. "Will you look forward to me coming here? I hope so. I can't bear anymore looks of pity. I need some company who really understands."
Ian stood up and decided to...