He stares at the picture.
His father had told him that a cold winter in 1963, he and grandfather hunted that bighorn sheep. He had mounted the head off the living room wall, and packed the boxes hurriedly. The picture was taken as quickly as possible.
The year was 2003. There was a warning. They had time to pack their memories. This time there was just the breaking news.
He clenches the picture and looks around. The smell of gunpowder and dust lingers in the air. The sky cries bombs and explosives. People are in pieces.
The end is near.