A bleak, overcast sky weeps a fine, persistent drizzle. The air is cold and damp. A handful of MOURNERS, perhaps a dozen in all, are clustered around a freshly dug grave in a modest, well-kept cemetery. A simple, unadorned wooden casket rests on straps over the dark, rectangular hole.
At the head of the grave stands REVEREND DONALD MANNING, a man in his late fifties. His face is etched with a permanent tiredness, his shoulders slumped beneath his black vestments. He holds a small, worn prayer book, its pages softened by rain and use.
The mood is sombre, the silence broken only by the patter of rain on black umbrellas and the distant hum of traffic.
REVEREND DONALD MANNING
(Solemnly, reading from the book)
We commit his body to the ground; earth to earth, ashes to ashes, dust to dust; in the sure and certain hope of the Resurrection to eternal life. We pray for the soul of our brother, Jay, and for his family, that they may find comfort in one another and in God's grace during this trying time.
A moment of heavy silence follows. Most mourners bow their heads. But one man, WILLIAM SUGDEN, a ruddy-faced man in his fifties crammed into an ill-fitting, slightly-too-tight suit, remains rigid. He stands with his arms crossed, a bitter, contemptuous expression on his face.
WILLIAM SUGDEN
(Loud enough for everyone to hear)
Shouldn't have drunk himself into it, then. The daft old bastard.
The words slice through the quiet reverence. A collective gasp ripples through the small crowd. Heads snap up. FAITH SHAKESPEARE, the deceased's sister, a woman in her forties with a face puffy and stained from crying, spins to face William. The grief on her face curdles into disbelief.
FAITH SHAKESPEARE
(Voice thin)
Sorry… what did you just say?
WILLIAM SUGDEN
(Shrugging, unapologetic)
Oh, don't act like you don't know. He drank like a fish whose only wish was to drown. Lived every day like it was his last. The problem was, well, one day he was right.
FAITH SHAKESPEARE
(Voice trembling with a rising tide of anger)
You heartless bastard. My brother is lying there, not even in the ground yet, and you have the audacity to—
WILLIAM SUGDEN
(Interrupting, his voice a harsh rasp)
—Tell the truth? The truth hurts, doesn't it, Faith? We're all stood here thinking it. I'm just the only one with the guts to say it. He pickled himself. End of story.
ARCHIE MATTHEWS, a man of similar age to William but with a kinder, more worried face, steps forward and grabs his friend's arm.
ARCHIE MATTHEWS
(Urgently, pulling at William's sleeve)
Will, for God's sake. Come on. Let's go for a coffee. This isn't the time or the place. You're making a scene.
WILLIAM SUGDEN
(Shaking off Archie's hand with a violent shrug)
Why should I leave? I've got as much right to be here as anyone. More than most, considering I had to live on the same street as him for twenty-two years. Watched him stumble home night after night. That's a long sentence for any sane man.
Faith takes an aggressive step toward William, but her husband, DANIEL, a quiet, solid man, gently puts a hand on her arm, holding her back.
DANIEL SHAKESPEARE
(Softly, in her ear)
He's not worth it, Faith. He's just looking for a fight. Think of Jay. He wouldn't want this.
FAITH SHAKESPEARE
(Wiping at fresh, angry tears with the back of her hand)
Jay was twice the man you'll ever be, William Sugden! Everyone knows that! He had a good heart!
WILLIAM SUGDEN
(Scoffing, a humourless laugh)
A good heart? He was a useless, alcoholic mechanic who'd lie, cheat, and steal for his next pint. Notice his boss didn't have the stomach to come? Frederick? Smart man. Knows a lost cause when he sees one. Jay wasn't a saint. He was a pathetic, self-pitying burden on society.
Nearby, FELIX ROSENTHAL, an elderly man in a smart coat, mutters to his wife.
FELIX ROSENTHAL
(To his wife, but loud enough for others to hear)
Some people have no shame. No respect for the dead. In my day, a man like that would've been horsewhipped.
CHRISSIE ROSENTHAL
(Adjusting her black hat, her expression more curious than offended)
No, but he has a point, Felix. Why didn't Frederick come? He did employ Jay for what, twenty-plus years at that garage? Can't even show his face for an hour?
GRACE COLLINS, a weary-looking woman who is Jay's ex-wife, speaks up quietly. She stands slightly apart from the main family group.
GRACE COLLINS
Frederick sent flowers. A big wreath. I saw them in the church. Still… he should have attended.
FAITH SHAKESPEARE
(Voice dripping with bitterness)
Flowers don't make up for his absence. It's because he's like all the rest of them. Only in it for himself. He can rot in hell with the lot of them.
ARCHIE MATTHEWS
(Attempting to defuse the situation again, looking around helplessly)
Now, Faith, I'm sure Frederick had his reasons. The garage can't just close for the day. Someone has to keep the lights on. It's just business sense.
WILLIAM SUGDEN
(Snorting)
Yeah, runs like clockwork now Jay's not there to muck everything up. Probably the first time in years he hasn't had to re-do half the jobs from the day before.
That's the final straw. Faith lunges, a raw cry of anguish escaping her lips. Daniel and her son, JASON, a young man in his late teens, catch her, struggling to hold her back.
JASON SHAKESPEARE
(To William, his young face contorted with rage, teeth clenched)
My grandad never did anything to you! What is wrong with you?
BARBARA CHESTERFIELD, a middle-aged woman with a kind face, steps tentatively between the factions.
BARBARA CHESTERFIELD
Please. Everyone. This is a funeral. Show some respect. If not for Jay, then for his family. This is supposed to be a civil service.
The two UNDERTAKERS, who have been standing back respectfully by their hearse, now approach the Reverend, their expressions professionally neutral but strained.
REVEREND DONALD MANNING
(Clearing his throat, his authority sounding thin and reedy)
You'll need to move back from the graveside. The men need to… they need to finish. Please, be cooperative.
The mourners begin to shuffle back, creating a wider circle. All except for William, who remains defiantly rooted to his spot, a grim sentinel of hate.
WILLIAM SUGDEN
(Loudly, projecting to the heavens)
Unfortunately, they can't bury the bastard deep enough. Shame, isn't it.
A shocked, unified gasp. It's too much. Faith breaks free from Daniel and Jason's hold. The space between her and William closes in an instant. A sharp crack echoes in the damp air as her palm connects with his cheek.
FAITH SHAKESPEARE
(Through shuddering, broken sobs)
Get out! Get out of here now!
LISA PARKER, Jay's cousin, steps forward, her own face a mask of confusion and pain.
LISA PARKER
What did he ever do to you, William? Why this… this poison? Why?
William slowly raises a hand to his reddening cheek. The slap seems to have broken something in his angry facade. For a moment, his expression is hard, but a flicker of profound, deep-seated hurt flashes in his eyes.
WILLIAM SUGDEN
(Gruffly, his voice cracking slightly on the first few words)
You want to know why? Fine. I'll tell you why. Three years ago. March. I lent him money. A lot of money. More than I could afford to lose. He swore on his life he'd pay me back. Said it was for his mother's medical bills. An operation she needed. And I thought… well, it's Jay. He's a mess, but he wouldn't lie about something like that. About his own mum.
He pauses, swallowing hard. The rain plasters his hair to his forehead.
WILLIAM SUGDEN
(CONT'D)
Then I find out the truth. A month later. He never paid a single damn penny to the hospital. She never even had an operation. He spent it all. Every last pound. On booze and horses. And when I confronted him… when I asked him where my money was… do you know what he did? He laughed. Laughed right in my face. Said the world owed him a living and I was just paying my dues. Said he owed me nothing.
A low murmur ripples through the crowd. People exchange uncertain glances. Felix Rosenthal looks at the ground, ashamed. Grace Collins closes her eyes.
CHRISSIE ROSENThal
(Softly, though it sounds hollow)
That doesn't justify this, William. Not here. Not now.
WILLIAM SUGDEN
(Snapping his head toward her)
Get back in the kitchen, you stupid cow.
FELIX ROSENTHAL
(Puffing out his chest)
That's enough! You don't get to talk to my wife like that.
WILLIAM SUGDEN
(Turning on him)
Yeah? Or what are you gonna do about it, old man? Bore me to death with stories about "your day"?
REVEREND DONALD MANNING
(Finding his voice, firmly now)
I think it would be best if you left now, Mr. Sugden. Allow this family to grieve in peace.
Archie takes William's arm again. This time, William's shoulders slump in defeat and he doesn't resist.
ARCHIE MATTHEWS
(Quietly to William)
Come on, mate. You've said your piece. Let's go.
As they begin to walk away through the headstones, William stops and turns back one last time, his voice quieter now, almost to himself, but carrying in the still air.
WILLIAM SUGDEN
He knew what he was doing to himself. We all watched him do it, year after year. And you all stand around saying he was misguided, wringing your hands saying you tried to stop him.
FAITH SHAKESPEARE
(Her voice raw)
Don't you think we tried? Every day, we tried!
WILLIAM SUGDEN
No. You didn't even start. The only people he really listened to were the bottle, his wallet, Bart Matthews, and Jed Chesterfield. And where were they in his hour of need, eh?
He scans the crowd. JED CHESTERFIELD, Barbara's husband, a shifty-looking man, avoids his gaze.
JED CHESTERFIELD
(Muttering defensively)
Me and Bart were… we were having a beer.
William gives a short, bitter bark of a laugh. It's a sound utterly devoid of humour.
WILLIAM SUGDEN
Rest my case.
(He looks directly at Faith)
Have a crap day. Something tells me you're gonna have many more of them.
A final moment of raw, terrible understanding passes between them. Then William turns and lets Archie lead him away, their figures receding into the grey mist.
The remaining mourners stand in a shocked, miserable silence. The undertakers look at the Reverend, who nods grimly.
REVEREND DONALD MANNING
(Voice heavy with resignation)
Let us… let us continue. As we commit Jay's body to the earth, let us remember not his struggles, but the good he brought into this world…
From the edge of the cemetery, just before he disappears, William's voice drifts back, one last parting shot.
WILLIAM SUGDEN (O.S.)
He did nothing and brought no good! The Shakespeare family isn't just cursed, it's full of hypocrites!
[SCENE START]
EXT. CEMETERY - DAY
A bleak, overcast sky weeps a fine, persistent drizzle. The air is cold and damp. A handful of MOURNERS, perhaps a dozen in all, are clustered around a freshly dug grave in a modest, well-kept cemetery. A simple, unadorned wooden casket rests on straps over the dark, rectangular hole.
At the head of the grave stands REVEREND DONALD MANNING, a man in his late fifties. His face is etched with a permanent tiredness, his shoulders slumped beneath his black vestments. He holds a small, worn prayer book, its pages softened by rain and use.
The mood is sombre, the silence broken only by the patter of rain on black umbrellas and the distant hum of traffic.
REVEREND DONALD MANNING
(Solemnly, reading from the book)
We commit his body to the ground; earth to earth, ashes to ashes, dust to dust; in the sure and certain hope of the Resurrection to eternal life. We pray for the soul of our brother, Jay, and for his family, that they may find comfort in one another and in God's grace during this trying time.
A moment of heavy silence follows. Most mourners bow their heads. But one man, WILLIAM SUGDEN, a ruddy-faced man in his fifties crammed into an ill-fitting, slightly-too-tight suit, remains rigid. He stands with his arms crossed, a bitter, contemptuous expression on his face.
WILLIAM SUGDEN
(Loud enough for everyone to hear)
Shouldn't have drunk himself into it, then. The daft old bastard.
The words slice through the quiet reverence. A collective gasp ripples through the small crowd. Heads snap up. FAITH SHAKESPEARE, the deceased's sister, a woman in her forties with a face puffy and stained from crying, spins to face William. The grief on her face curdles into disbelief.
FAITH SHAKESPEARE
(Voice thin)
Sorry… what did you just say?
WILLIAM SUGDEN
(Shrugging, unapologetic)
Oh, don't act like you don't know. He drank like a fish whose only wish was to drown. Lived every day like it was his last. The problem was, well, one day he was right.
FAITH SHAKESPEARE
(Voice trembling with a rising tide of anger)
You heartless bastard. My brother is lying there, not even in the ground yet, and you have the audacity to—
WILLIAM SUGDEN
(Interrupting, his voice a harsh rasp)
—Tell the truth? The truth hurts, doesn't it, Faith? We're all stood here thinking it. I'm just the only one with the guts to say it. He pickled himself. End of story.
ARCHIE MATTHEWS, a man of similar age to William but with a kinder, more worried face, steps forward and grabs his friend's arm.
ARCHIE MATTHEWS
(Urgently, pulling at William's sleeve)
Will, for God's sake. Come on. Let's go for a coffee. This isn't the time or the place. You're making a scene.
WILLIAM SUGDEN
(Shaking off Archie's hand with a violent shrug)
Why should I leave? I've got as much right to be here as anyone. More than most, considering I had to live on the same street as him for twenty-two years. Watched him stumble home night after night. That's a long sentence for any sane man.
Faith takes an aggressive step toward William, but her husband, DANIEL, a quiet, solid man, gently puts a hand on her arm, holding her back.
DANIEL SHAKESPEARE
(Softly, in her ear)
He's not worth it, Faith. He's just looking for a fight. Think of Jay. He wouldn't want this.
FAITH SHAKESPEARE
(Wiping at fresh, angry tears with the back of her hand)
Jay was twice the man you'll ever be, William Sugden! Everyone knows that! He had a good heart!
WILLIAM SUGDEN
(Scoffing, a humourless laugh)
A good heart? He was a useless, alcoholic mechanic who'd lie, cheat, and steal for his next pint. Notice his boss didn't have the stomach to come? Frederick? Smart man. Knows a lost cause when he sees one. Jay wasn't a saint. He was a pathetic, self-pitying burden on society.
Nearby, FELIX ROSENTHAL, an elderly man in a smart coat, mutters to his wife.
FELIX ROSENTHAL
(To his wife, but loud enough for others to hear)
Some people have no shame. No respect for the dead. In my day, a man like that would've been horsewhipped.
CHRISSIE ROSENTHAL
(Adjusting her black hat, her expression more curious than offended)
No, but he has a point, Felix. Why didn't Frederick come? He did employ Jay for what, twenty-plus years at that garage? Can't even show his face for an hour?
GRACE COLLINS, a weary-looking woman who is Jay's ex-wife, speaks up quietly. She stands slightly apart from the main family group.
GRACE COLLINS
Frederick sent flowers. A big wreath. I saw them in the church. Still… he should have attended.
FAITH SHAKESPEARE
(Voice dripping with bitterness)
Flowers don't make up for his absence. It's because he's like all the rest of them. Only in it for himself. He can rot in hell with the lot of them.
ARCHIE MATTHEWS
(Attempting to defuse the situation again, looking around helplessly)
Now, Faith, I'm sure Frederick had his reasons. The garage can't just close for the day. Someone has to keep the lights on. It's just business sense.
WILLIAM SUGDEN
(Snorting)
Yeah, runs like clockwork now Jay's not there to muck everything up. Probably the first time in years he hasn't had to re-do half the jobs from the day before.
That's the final straw. Faith lunges, a raw cry of anguish escaping her lips. Daniel and her son, JASON, a young man in his late teens, catch her, struggling to hold her back.
JASON SHAKESPEARE
(To William, his young face contorted with rage, teeth clenched)
My grandad never did anything to you! What is wrong with you?
BARBARA CHESTERFIELD, a middle-aged woman with a kind face, steps tentatively between the factions.
BARBARA CHESTERFIELD
Please. Everyone. This is a funeral. Show some respect. If not for Jay, then for his family. This is supposed to be a civil service.
The two UNDERTAKERS, who have been standing back respectfully by their hearse, now approach the Reverend, their expressions professionally neutral but strained.
REVEREND DONALD MANNING
(Clearing his throat, his authority sounding thin and reedy)
You'll need to move back from the graveside. The men need to… they need to finish. Please, be cooperative.
The mourners begin to shuffle back, creating a wider circle. All except for William, who remains defiantly rooted to his spot, a grim sentinel of hate.
WILLIAM SUGDEN
(Loudly, projecting to the heavens)
Unfortunately, they can't bury the bastard deep enough. Shame, isn't it.
A shocked, unified gasp. It's too much. Faith breaks free from Daniel and Jason's hold. The space between her and William closes in an instant. A sharp crack echoes in the damp air as her palm connects with his cheek.
FAITH SHAKESPEARE
(Through shuddering, broken sobs)
Get out! Get out of here now!
LISA PARKER, Jay's cousin, steps forward, her own face a mask of confusion and pain.
LISA PARKER
What did he ever do to you, William? Why this… this poison? Why?
William slowly raises a hand to his reddening cheek. The slap seems to have broken something in his angry facade. For a moment, his expression is hard, but a flicker of profound, deep-seated hurt flashes in his eyes.
WILLIAM SUGDEN
(Gruffly, his voice cracking slightly on the first few words)
You want to know why? Fine. I'll tell you why. Three years ago. March. I lent him money. A lot of money. More than I could afford to lose. He swore on his life he'd pay me back. Said it was for his mother's medical bills. An operation she needed. And I thought… well, it's Jay. He's a mess, but he wouldn't lie about something like that. About his own mum.
He pauses, swallowing hard. The rain plasters his hair to his forehead.
WILLIAM SUGDEN
(CONT'D)
Then I find out the truth. A month later. He never paid a single damn penny to the hospital. She never even had an operation. He spent it all. Every last pound. On booze and horses. And when I confronted him… when I asked him where my money was… do you know what he did? He laughed. Laughed right in my face. Said the world owed him a living and I was just paying my dues. Said he owed me nothing.
A low murmur ripples through the crowd. People exchange uncertain glances. Felix Rosenthal looks at the ground, ashamed. Grace Collins closes her eyes.
CHRISSIE ROSENThal
(Softly, though it sounds hollow)
That doesn't justify this, William. Not here. Not now.
WILLIAM SUGDEN
(Snapping his head toward her)
Get back in the kitchen, you stupid cow.
FELIX ROSENTHAL
(Puffing out his chest)
That's enough! You don't get to talk to my wife like that.
WILLIAM SUGDEN
(Turning on him)
Yeah? Or what are you gonna do about it, old man? Bore me to death with stories about "your day"?
REVEREND DONALD MANNING
(Finding his voice, firmly now)
I think it would be best if you left now, Mr. Sugden. Allow this family to grieve in peace.
Archie takes William's arm again. This time, William's shoulders slump in defeat and he doesn't resist.
ARCHIE MATTHEWS
(Quietly to William)
Come on, mate. You've said your piece. Let's go.
As they begin to walk away through the headstones, William stops and turns back one last time, his voice quieter now, almost to himself, but carrying in the still air.
WILLIAM SUGDEN
He knew what he was doing to himself. We all watched him do it, year after year. And you all stand around saying he was misguided, wringing your hands saying you tried to stop him.
FAITH SHAKESPEARE
(Her voice raw)
Don't you think we tried? Every day, we tried!
WILLIAM SUGDEN
No. You didn't even start. The only people he really listened to were the bottle, his wallet, Bart Matthews, and Jed Chesterfield. And where were they in his hour of need, eh?
He scans the crowd. JED CHESTERFIELD, Barbara's husband, a shifty-looking man, avoids his gaze.
JED CHESTERFIELD
(Muttering defensively)
Me and Bart were… we were having a beer.
William gives a short, bitter bark of a laugh. It's a sound utterly devoid of humour.
WILLIAM SUGDEN
Rest my case.
(He looks directly at Faith)
Have a crap day. Something tells me you're gonna have many more of them.
A final moment of raw, terrible understanding passes between them. Then William turns and lets Archie lead him away, their figures receding into the grey mist.
The remaining mourners stand in a shocked, miserable silence. The undertakers look at the Reverend, who nods grimly.
REVEREND DONALD MANNING
(Voice heavy with resignation)
Let us… let us continue. As we commit Jay's body to the earth, let us remember not his struggles, but the good he brought into this world…
From the edge of the cemetery, just before he disappears, William's voice drifts back, one last parting shot.
WILLIAM SUGDEN (O.S.)
He did nothing and brought no good! The Shakespeare family isn't just cursed, it's full of hypocrites!
The drizzle has intensified into a steady, miserable rain. Archie and William walk between the rows of cars, the gravel crunching under their feet. William strides ahead, his shoulders hunched, his hands shoved deep into his pockets. Archie hurries to keep up.
ARCHIE MATTHEWS
(Puffing slightly)
Will, for crying out loud. Will, stop.
William stops abruptly beside a dented Ford Escort, his knuckles white as he grips the rain-slick roof. He stares back towards the small group at the graveside, now just a cluster of black shapes in the grey mist.
WILLIAM SUGDEN
(Through gritted teeth)
Don't tell me to stop. Someone had to say it.
ARCHIE MATTHEWS
(Exasperated)
Did they? Did they really? Right then, right there? With his sister-in-law and his daughter and his lad standing over his coffin? Have you lost your mind entirely?
WILLIAM SUGDEN
My mind is the sanest one in that whole damn field. Did you see them? All standing there, pulling their sad faces. "Oh, poor Jay." Poor Jay my arse. He did it to himself. Every single drop, he poured down his own throat.
ARCHIE MATTHEWS
Of course he did! Nobody's denying that. But there's a thing called decency, William. A thing called respect. You just went in there like a wrecking ball.
WILLIAM SUGDEN
(Whipping around to face him)
Respect? He didn't respect me when he took my money! He didn't respect his wife when he spent the rent on a three-day bender. He didn't respect his own son, turning up pissed to his school sports day. And he sure as hell didn't respect himself. So don't you dare talk to me about respect. He traded all that away for a bottle of cheap scotch years ago.
Archie lets out a long, weary sigh, wiping rain from his forehead.
ARCHIE MATTHEWS
Look, I'm not defending him. I knew Jay. I saw it too. But Faith… she just lost her father. Whatever he was, he was still her father.
WILLIAM SUGDEN
And she enabled him! They all did! "Oh, he's just going through a tough time." "Oh, his heart's in the right place." His heart was in the off-licence, and his brain was floating in it. Jed Chesterfield stood there looking all solemn. The man was Jay's number one drinking partner for a decade! "Having a beer," he says. Of course he was! That's all they ever did!
He kicks at the tyre of the Escort, a dull, unsatisfying thud.
ARCHIE MATTHEWS
So what did you want? For no one to turn up? To just leave him to be dropped in a hole with no one to mark the occasion?
WILLIAM SUGDEN
I wanted some honesty! Just once. I wanted one of them to say, "He was a drunk, he made our lives hell, he broke promises, and he hurt people. But he's gone now, and maybe that's for the best." But they can't, can they? They have to dress it all up in bullshit and prayers. Makes them feel better about doing nothing while he drank himself to death.
ARCHIE MATTHEWS
(Voice softening)
It wasn't just the money, was it, Will? I know you. That was a lot of cash, but this… this is something else. This is personal.
WILLIAM SUGDEN
(Turns away, looking out at the rain)
Of course it was about the money. It was three grand, Archie. Three grand I needed for my own farming business, and I gave it to him.
ARCHIE MATTHEWS
And he laughed at you. He made you feel like a fool. That's what you can't forgive. Not the debt. The humiliation.
William is silent for a long moment. The anger seems to drain out of him, replaced by a profound, hollow weariness. He leans heavily against the car.
WILLIAM SUGDEN
(Quietly)
We were mates once. A long, long time ago. Before the rot set in properly. We used to knock about together as kids. He… he was funny back then. Sharp. You don't do that to a mate, Arch. You just don't. You don't lie about your mum being sick and then piss it all up a wall and laugh about it. That's not a man. That's a monster in a man's skin.
ARCHIE MATTHEWS
I know.
Archie claps a hand on William's shoulder. The ill-fitting suit jacket is soaked through.
ARCHIE MATTHEWS
(CONT'D)
Come on. Let's go to The Royal Oak. Get a proper pint. Get you warmed up. You look half-drowned.
WILLIAM SUGDEN
(A bitter smile touches his lips)
Poetic, isn't it? The whole world's pissed.
ARCHIE MATTHEWS
Let me buy you a whisky. For your troubles. You've aired it all out now. Let it go.
WILLIAM SUGDEN
(Shakes his head slowly)
I can't let it go, Arch. It's not a balloon. It's a stone. It just sits there.
ARCHIE MATTHEWS
Well, a stone is heavy. You don't have to carry it everywhere. Just put it down for an hour. Come on.
William looks back one last time at the cemetery. The mourners are beginning to disperse, a slow procession of black umbrellas moving towards the car park. He sees Faith being helped into a car by Daniel and Jason. Her face is a pale blur of grief.
WILLIAM SUGDEN
Yeah. Alright. The Oak. But I'm not toasting his memory.
ARCHIE MATTHEWS
Fine by me. We'll toast to the fact it's over. And to the hope that you never, ever do that again.
William grunts, a sound that could be agreement or just pure misery. Archie opens the passenger door for him, and William slumps into the seat, dripping rainwater onto the upholstery. The brief, violent storm of his rage has passed, leaving behind a cold and empty landscape.