In a quiet Los Angeles graveyard, a man clad in an overcoat and wearing a round gentleman's hat stared at the tombstone before him, his eyes brimming with sorrow.
He stood still for a long while before squatting down. He took out a notebook tucked with an ink pen from his chest. As he crossed off names on it one by one, he murmured sadly,
"Silly little sister, you've always been hot-tempered since you were little.
"As a child, when you broke your leg playing, you clenched your teeth and refused to cry in front of others.
"When I got your call and heard you crying, I knew something had happened to you.
"I rushed over from Vietnam overnight, but it was still too late.
"I didn't even get to see you one last time.
"Silly little sister, why didn't you wait for your brother..."
His voice trailed off. The dozen or so names in the notebook were all crossed out with increasingly forceful lines.
The man took out a lighter and set the notebook ablaze.
