His breath hitched as he crossed the courtyard. White clouds floated from his mouth as he pushed himself to move faster. Rain fell from the sky, soaking his hot body and sticking his black hair against his injured cheek.
He clutched tightly a wrinkled, weathered photograph. On it was the kid and two other people, posing in front of a house.
In the upper right corner there is a bell stamp engulfed in flames, which his father deliberately inscribed there for Christmas. At the bottom of the photo, there's a line of text with a quote from the three of them and a happy emoji. The lines were blurry, he couldn't read them no matter how hard he tried. Why can't he read it?
When the tears and rain combined, when the pain in his wounds and legs became severe, he almost wanted to give up.
Without
