The sun sets on the Grand Canyon against a backdrop of clouds. The dying light creates nuclear shades of orange, reds and violets, that complement the striations of brown and biege carved over millenia into the rocky walls; the craggy outcroppings throw long purple and navy accents. A lone man is silhouetted against the safety railing looking into the chasm.

“Barb, we’ve been together for 40 years now… And never once have I ever broken a promise to you.”
Warren pauses, and puffs on his cigarette.
“But, honey… You gotta cut me a little slack on this one…” His voice cracks on the words.

No, I can’t do it.
Please. I need you to do it.
I can’t do it…
Warren… You promised me.

He drops his cigarette on the ground, and crushes it with the heel of his boot. Walking back to the car, he opens the car door and carefully places the brass urn into the seat. He wraps it in a blanket, and secures it for the ride home.
Then, he whispers: “… at least I kept the one that mattered.”