The strong smell of fresh frangipani hit his nose as the young boy strode through the cemetery gates, a piece of cloth clutched in his left hand while a bunch of roses rested in his right. More tears burned in his eyes and slid down his pale cheeks as he vigorously wiped them off with the back of his hand.
He walked in further on, his sunglasses glinting slowly in the warm evening sun. The juvenile walked a few more paces to his left, his eyes pinned onto the hundreds of gravestones that lined his path, as more tears flowed down steadily. Finally, he stopped and took a few tentative steps forward. He had found what he had come here for.
The young boy knelt in front of that very particular gravestone, and with a somber expression that plastered every inch of his face, he proceeded to polish the it with great effort with the cloth he held fast onto in his left hand. His chest heaved with exhaustion as he wiped off the very last speck of dust that rested upon the slab of stone. The late evening sun cast a comforting glow over the vicinity, as the latter stood back and admired his work with a satisfied yet sober smile.
His eyes were soon clouded over with grief once more, and his face was twisted with strong, yet deep emotion as he slowly placed the bunch of roses upon the fresh, newly dug earth. Running his hand over the top of the gravestone, he sighed in disappointment as the boy got to his feet and strode, hands buried deep in pockets, back out of the gates.
Just before he left the cemetery gates, Nigel suppressed yet another sad sigh and swallowed the huge lump in his throat.