This was the first ever short story I posted at ATS and I thought, perhaps, another audience may appreciate it.
Old Scars.
Scars. Old Scars. They don't hurt anymore. Hell, not even new ones do it seems. They just ache. Achy, old scars.
Laying in the dark silent room. Internal clock estimates nearly an hour of sleep. That's a good nights rest anymore. I draw a deep breathe thru the oft broken, slightly mangled nose on my face. The cold air makes the crushed nasal passages throb. Creaking, popping ribs, sharp pangs here and there. I'm pretty sure the three on the left are cracked. Nothing to do about them now.
I roll my burning eyes under sandpaper eyelids. Neck and back twisted up like an old lightning struck tree. A slight roll of my shoulders brings the familiar feeling of crushed glass grinding in my shoulder joints. Hips, knees...easier to check off what doesn't ache.....well, that's a short goddamn list. Time to get moving, Death rises with the dawn. People are going to die today, a lot of them. Ours? Theirs? Me? Doesn't matter too much in the Grand Scheme of things.
I set my feet on the splintery floor. I recall it's covered in nails, broken glass and bits of shrapnel...meh, new scars. I shuffle across the floor in total darkness in the direction of the can, familiar bite of foreign objects tearing into my soles. I'll have to remember to pull them out before booting up. I turn on the dim, flickering light and catch myself in a dirty, cracked mirror. Bones poking at odd angles. Skin just a mass of old scars stretched across muscle and bones.
Just old scars.
The end?
Old Scars.
Scars. Old Scars. They don't hurt anymore. Hell, not even new ones do it seems. They just ache. Achy, old scars.
Laying in the dark silent room. Internal clock estimates nearly an hour of sleep. That's a good nights rest anymore. I draw a deep breathe thru the oft broken, slightly mangled nose on my face. The cold air makes the crushed nasal passages throb. Creaking, popping ribs, sharp pangs here and there. I'm pretty sure the three on the left are cracked. Nothing to do about them now.
I roll my burning eyes under sandpaper eyelids. Neck and back twisted up like an old lightning struck tree. A slight roll of my shoulders brings the familiar feeling of crushed glass grinding in my shoulder joints. Hips, knees...easier to check off what doesn't ache.....well, that's a short goddamn list. Time to get moving, Death rises with the dawn. People are going to die today, a lot of them. Ours? Theirs? Me? Doesn't matter too much in the Grand Scheme of things.
I set my feet on the splintery floor. I recall it's covered in nails, broken glass and bits of shrapnel...meh, new scars. I shuffle across the floor in total darkness in the direction of the can, familiar bite of foreign objects tearing into my soles. I'll have to remember to pull them out before booting up. I turn on the dim, flickering light and catch myself in a dirty, cracked mirror. Bones poking at odd angles. Skin just a mass of old scars stretched across muscle and bones.
Just old scars.
The end?
