The weeping man walks slow.
The rubber soles of his shoes worn down to a mere piece of material blocking him from being free.
As if his feet could escape, and run forever, he runs.
He runs to the only place that once took him in, the church.
But not even god can free him, for the door is locked, and the man weeps.
He weeps as if his tears could land on the very gravel where his children were shot dead, could turn to gold.
He weeps to the ground in fear of looking up. Scared of what he might see.
Scared of seeing the faces of the children he tried so hard to protect. Cursing him and wishing he was dead too.
He weeps. A coward to his own life.
The weeping man later found in front of the church, dead.
Dead in the same spot where he had cried for years.
But this time..
**He was looking up