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"I-I thought you wouldn't die."
It's storming, but Alfred F. Jones doesn't care that the rain stings skin and soaks clothes.
"You were always there . You were invincible!"
He stands at a grave - not his grave, because what's left to bury?
"The sun never sets, you said! You lied !"
It's childish, his anger - irrational, yelling at a stranger's grave, pretending it's someone else's; believing in immortality, when that someone had once said that no nation lasts.
"I never liked listening to you, anyway," Alfred mumbles.
Memories and sorrow keep him there, in the rain, for a long time.