The old man sat alone, staring vacantly across the park. While sunshine and laughter filled the park, he remained silent and unmoving in a shaded corner. No one noticed him, though he stayed there day by day, remembering all that had happened there. What everyone had forgotten.

Finally, a young woman approached him. She frequently came to write or draw, enjoying how all the children played. The woman had always seen the old man when she came, though, and wondered if he was lonely, as she was, even though the town was so small. Day by day, she'd seen the somber look on his face, and how his grief seemed to pour from his very being. He turned to look at her as she walked towards him.

“Excuse me, sir. Do you have room for me to join you?” she asked, motioning to the bench. He nodded silently, watching her carefully, cautiously. “My name is Anna. It's a pleasure to meet you!” she continued brightly, hoping to bring some cheer to the man. The man just nodded once more, looking down at his folded hands.

For a time, Anna sketched the park, but there was something she couldn't get right. The memorial stone in the center of the park seemed so perfect, a shining white, with light reflecting in all directions, and she somehow found it impossible to capture.

“Beautiful, isn't it?” she said, looking at the memorial, while young chased one another around it.

“Yes. She was,” the old man said, looking up, a wistful expression on his face. “She was like the sun. Bright and smiling, so cheerful, and always laughing. She was so beautiful, too... why she would ever bother with a man like myself still is beyond me. We came here often, to watch the clouds, to talk about our future... she used to draw pictures, as well. And her voice... like an angel's. I would ask her to sing, and everyone in the park would gather to hear her, she was so captivating...” As he trailed off, the man looked down again.

“She sounds so lovely! The memorial is for her?” Anna asked. She'd never looked at the memorial for long. It seemed to have been there her entire life, and though she had seen it, she never had bothered to even look at the name on the plaque.

“Yes, it is. If only I could have taken her place...” pausing, he looked up at Anna. “What I would give to see her again... why, I'd give everything I have.” He continued to look at her long after finishing, but Anna found herself at a total loss for words. As he continued to look at her, his face started to change, softening. “What did you say your name was,” he said quietly.

“My name is Anna,” she said.

“My dear, go take a closer look at that plaque by the memorial.”

Cautiously, Anna rose from the bench. Glancing back as she walked, she headed towards the white rock, stopping in front of the placard. “In Loving Memory of Anna Rose Greenwood,” was written in fading golden letters. “Anna...” she said to herself quietly.

The old man watched as she read the plaque. He could see the sunlight reflecting off her golden hair, just as he had seen each day he came to the park. He had wondered how one could be so similar to his one true love, the one who had died in his very arms. If only he had protected her from the thug, who had so mercilessly shot her in the park when she refused to give him money... she intended it to be donated to the needy. Oh, sweet, angelic Anna!

The hot sun warmed his face as he looked up for a moment. He remembered her voice, and her drawings... oh, those beautiful pictures! Turning to the now unoccupied seat next to him, he saw Anna's sketchbook open. Carefully, he picked it up, flipping through the pictures. He could remember seeing each scene with Anna when they were young... her house next door to his. The school. The old diner. The park. Even the graveyard where she now rested.

Anna returned, her face now pale. She searched the old man's face as he examined her drawings.

“These are beautiful. Where did you find such inspiration?” he questioned.

“They always felt like memories to me. Things that came to me in dreams and such. The ones from the park, I sketched here,” she replied.

“This one... this was where she lived. And the school was where we first met. The old diner? It's gone now, but in summertime, we used to get sodas together. And that graveyard you drew... this one, you see? This white stone, like the memorial... this was hers,” he said, both quickly and quietly as he turned the pages. “And this one...” he said, looking at a drawing of a man's face.

“What is it?” Anna asked. The old man and her looked at one another for a long time, no words exchanged.

The man looked at her gravely. “This was the man that killed her.”

“Are you sure?”

“Positive.”

“My... father... killed Anna?”

“Your father?”

“Yes, that drawing is my father.”

“Oh, the irony... that every day, your father must see the face of the woman he killed. What torture it must be... ha! In every way, you are like my dear Anna. Every way...”

“You can't possibly be serious. I've never seen anything to indicate my father treating me any different than my brothers. This is simply too impossible!”

“Too impossible. That's what she said the night she died, the night I asked her to marry me. You must be Anna, oh Anna! You have come back to me!” the old man cried, jumping up. “I shall avenge your death, I will find that man who killed you! I will, oh I will!”

“Please, calm down, Evan! Please!” she said, terror rising in her voice. This man must be crazy, she thought.

“There, there, you see!?”

“See what?”

Evan looked straight into her eyes. “Not once did I tell you my name. But my name, you already knew.”