Vocation camp

The boy walked down the path he had taken many times before, only this time, it was different. The leaves were either yellow, or there were no leaves at all. Beneath the tree where he'd visited as a child, sat an old man, with a white beard and wrinkles. There was no snapping of necks, no change of eye direction, as the boy walked through the "gates", the old man was already looking at him. As though waiting for him to come home. The old brown eyes lit up with joy and smiled. And the old man's face became younger again. He broke the bread, the same bread they had shared all those years ago, and offered it to the boy.

The boy clung to the cross. The cross around his neck. And...the boy...I cried.