It was a misty evening indeed, as the ethereal rain descended from the sky. It fell upon an elderly man with a red scarf, too tired to move yet too motivated to stop.
Nature pushed his frail bones to the limit, as he walked. Step by step, he trotted back to his home. It was difficult, tiring, but he persisted.
He has decided: his time haven't came. No, not yet.
He glanced at the youthful children, with cries that pierced through the gloomy air and stood out like a sore thumb. He grinned, and a drop of tear fell to the ground.
*drip*
It was reminiscent of his youth, the days of adventure and joy. It was clear that he longed for it to arrive once again, yet it never came.
As the rain brushed his skin one-by-one, a new mission formed into his mind. It was one that could fulfill what his late wife wanted.
No. He was too old, too frail. Those days of stunts were way behind him.
He stared at the big, round moon that seemed to twinkle at his silly wish. His vision blurred. Tears formed in his eyes, emotions overwhelmed him. The tears traveled down his wrinkles, staining his coat.
"Well," he told himself, "no use crying over spilt milk."
He reached for the door handle, taking a deep breath and entered his humble abode.