Covered in them, he stands still, his breathing rapid. The crowd cheers around him as he stands victorious on the stadium, one hand raised high above his head held my the referee, a grin on his face. He engulfs the cheers and leer with open arms, basking in the attention. His adrenaline is pumping, blood rushing through his bones.
And then he awakes. Body aching, back hurting, tears on his cheeks.
He looks down and sees those same scars, the same ones he used to wear with honour in front of the crowds. Those same old, wrinkled wounds no longer bring him any pride, nor joy, for he is old now. And old scars ache harder as you grow older.
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Poems and Such
PoetryShort poems and stories, written in the spur of a moment, when inspiration had struck me
