Clive was at the age where hairs began to grey, the body began to give way and exhaustion and tiredness now became a common affair. However, he was not completely covered in wrinkles and some of his youthful stability still remained. I knew how much he missed his younger days. He was an avid runner, who always took pleasure in staying active and fit. Now, with age he could no longer travel of at great speeds and for unknown hours, but simply walk to the local shop and back, even then breaks would have to be taken.

Today, as usual he was dressed in his suit and tie, hiding behind his power and his role. The main difference today of course was the fact he wore a mask over his face. The mask was of an unrecognisable man, his face circular and clean-shaven.

Although this man's name did not come to bother me, I was satisfied with a knowing that I felt pride towards my dear friend for stepping outside of that entrapping zone, we call comfort.

Clive worked for the council, no one ever knowing his exact role, just that he worked for the council and always appeared in charge and at the very centre of it all. In retrospect, I suppose that never helped his popularity. He was hated across all the village, hate not even beginning to sum up  the resentment they all deeply felt for him. They called him heartless, self-centred, arrogant and a man who cares about himself.

But, Clive was never a complete Scrooge, he did have a heart, he did have passion, but only those that chose to see it, would ever know this as the truth. For the entire years he lived in town, not one person dug beyond his barriers, to seek what rocks and gems hid beneath his very  barriers. No, one ever polished these gems or rocks to make them shine and sparkle, showing them of  to the light, where the world could see it all in a different perspective.

Well, I say no one,when I came along, I couldn't refuse helping this poor lost and invisible man, relieving of his burdens and sadness that he carried solely on his own. Back then, I was well and fit, I used to run day and night with my newfound friend, telling him about my not so exciting life.

He opened up, told me of his wife's passing and the constant struggle of determining reality. Back then I tried to support him as best I could, but I couldn't relate to the pain he felt, well not until  2 years later, the day of the accident. I knew that my circumstance could never compete against his, the dire situation of losing a beloved one was one of the many insufferable and unbearable torments that we all have to live through.

But, with my wife gone, I felt as if part of my soul had gone away to. In fact I beat myself up every night, as I prayed that she was in fact dead, not for malicious desire, but because it altered the truth and eased the heartbreak that I felt.

I also knew about his kind, generous, supporting side, as a now single father. He did his best to remain strong and provide for them, showing of his loving father side. His two girls, Chelsea and Abi, were like angels sent from the Heavens, they supported their father, despite their own aching. Chelsea was 15 and was utterly obsessed with social media, well less now than before, because when her mother passed, she realised that she could waste her life away on the Web, or create real lasting memories with the people she loved. Since, that day, her image became less important, no longer caring how people saw her, she let herself be young and free once again. Abi was only 5 and had many of those adorable features that we love and cherish, but her cuteness and sweetness could not hide the fact she was lost and clueless towards her mothers death. The only real aid being the belief her mother was in the clouds looking down, watching her girls change into the remarkable women they will become.

I begin to wander over to where he sits, but as I approach, he pulls himself  up from his seat, taking with him a glass of lemonade, as he then move towards the exit, brushing past the other villagers, who do not divert their eyes or cast their attention onto him.