The onward advance of the storm clouds darkened the sky. As they silently glided, they stopped any remaining rays of the pale moonlight, the sky growing murkier each second. The remaining carriages left the little town, the people hoping to escape the dreadful storm. No one was left in the little town, not a single soul in sight. Yet one old man stayed back at his cabin. He knew of the impending storm, and he knew what would happen if he stayed. Yet he did not leave. He would not run away, not again. Time and time he had ran, and had escaped the jaws of death. But he would not do so again. The storm proceeded to enter the town, blanketing the roads and sidewalks with snow. The old man saw this, and acknowledged his fate. As the storm covered his cabin, he welcomed death as an old friend.