With the dawn also came the rain, thick and merciless, being carried by black clouds, as merciless as their waters and rays, which hurt the ground, also tormenting the ears of those who heard their cries.

The rain was incessant, weakening the soil and liquefying the earth. The floors of the houses were filthy with the mud brought in by their shoes.

There was nothing to do: most people went into their homes and rested, some - who had property - spent time with their families, others just took the time to loaf.

Bruce was a case in point, since the end of the war he had been anxiously waiting for his son, a feast always on the table for the special occasion. However, the party ended when his little prince arrived hitchhiking in a metal box, carried by four men in uniform.

Unable to bury him on the same day, he burst into tears as he clutched his own son, something his spouse also did. Like a plague, the mourn infect through the air.

It was only the other day that Bruce had the courage to dig the grave, and while he was working on the hole, his spouse dressed their prince in Bruce's wedding suit, a present that would be given to the boy on his eighteenth birthday. Bruce felt that God had played a perverse joke by combining the dates of his birth and burial.

In the coffin, Gabriel's lifeless face was covered with pieces of cheap plastic decorating him for his honor to his country. A cruel joke.

Even days after the funeral, Bruce can't leave the place, even in the rain, he lies beside the headstone, muttering words about it should have been him instead, words cursing his broken body.

His tired appearance was a testament to the sleepless nights he spent in the serenity, claiming to protect his offspring. He hadn't shaved in a while, his hair was spiky and messy and his eyes red; he was just a remnant of the man he once was.

He couldn't even eat; little by little his muscles began to waste away. But he remained close to the grave, leaving only to kiss his spouse — which even that turned cold — and then return to the tombstone.

His white robes had turned brown with mud as he hugged the headstone, caressing the letters that spelled Gabriel Smith, trying to sooth his son's fears. "It's okay, daddy's here. The thunders can't hurt you, daddy won't let them." He whispered to the cold dirt.