It was all dark and quiet. He was walking along the streets as usual.

An old man dressed with a big, black coat and a grey cap.

Roaming the streets, day and night, almost invisible with his old-fashioned black and grey-coloured clothes and his small crooked cane. The rumours tell that he had lost his family, friends and home in the war while he was out in the field, fighting for the country.

Unfortunately he was blaming himself for this tragedy and was therefore called “The Unforgiven” by those few people who had noticed his endless wandering. He was getting very old, this man, and it seemed like he was just waiting for his own death. He didn’t care about anything anymore.

It was a cold and rainy night. His coat was soaking wet, but he didn’t care. Suddenly, as he was wandering this night, he heard a scream of help. He looked up and saw a kid stabbing a little girl with a big, sharp knife. The old man ran towards them with a helpless look in his eyes, but the boy noticed him, and vanished behind a corner before the old man got there. The girl was lying on the ground with some knife cuts on her arms and legs. Her eyes were closed and the rain was pouring down on her body. The old man looked around if he could see the boy or anyone else, but the boy was gone and there was no one else in sight. He felt sorry for the poor, little girl and took her up. She was still warm, but he pulled off his black, wet coat and wrapped it around her anyway. Still seeing nobody, he ran away with the little girl in his arms. He ran until he unexpectedly caught sight of a small, dark shelter.

He went in there to be safe from the rain and to get some heat for the girl.

Inside the little shelter he found a little room with a fragile bench and some old, ramshackle chairs. He put her down on the bench and wrapped the wounded parts of her body up with bandage. She was still unconscious. Afterwards he went out to the adjacent shop and bought some victuals and something to drink. When he came back, the girl was awake and a bit perplexed. He told her what had happened and gave her a glass of lemon. She smiled and thanked him, but she was hurt roughly and could not rise.

The little girl reminded the old man of the daughter he once had. “What’s your name?” he asked silently. It was difficult for her to talk, but after some time, she stuttered: - Sarah. Thanks for saving me from that boy. - No problem, the old man answered mumbling, nipping his glass.

They talked a lot that night. The old man treated her as his own child and was for once in his poor life a bit happier. But he knew it was too good to be true, and he was right. - I’m tired.., she suddenly whispered. - I think I have to sleep, she continued stuttering. - That’s alright, the old man whispered back. She smiled at him and closed her eyes slowly. He smiled back, but she didn’t notice. She had already fallen asleep. He lay down on the floor beside her. It was all quiet. The only sounds you could possibly hear in the small shelter was the wind howling, pushing the trees back and forth, and the rain pouring down on the windows outside. The rain was getting weaker now. It got weaker and weaker until it finally stopped. In the same moment the wind stopped howling. The old man woke up. He could feel it. There was something in the air. He got up and looked at the little girl. Her smile was still there, but he could see that something was wrong. He moved his right hand carefully towards her face and touched her gently. It felt like an empty body. He moved his fingers towards her throat, trying to find her pulse, but couldn’t find it. - Oh no, he thought.

- Say it’s not true! But it was. Sad, but true. She was dead. He couldn’t do anything to help it. He didn’t know what to do either. He sat down desperately. His only hope was gone. Nothing else mattered. No one else. He had lost the will to live. Needed the end so he could be free. He went outside. Suddenly, the air was filled with the squeesing sound of a large trailer slaming on the brakes, followed by a big thump...