The Ranger by Matthew Stewart
The night sky is still and cloudless. Countless stars shine down from the heavens, their cold light resembling that of the Alewife's silver scales. A gentle breeze caresses its fingers through the crowns of the trees. The only unnatural light is the warm amber that pours out of the window of the home nearby. Inside sits a figure - introspective and lost in thought - his features often muffled behind the ghostly veil of pipe smoke. Watching the ethereal wisps stretch their fingers across the silent canvas of the room, a reoccurring thought makes another visit:
"What happens after?"
"What happens after?"