Heart of Steel

He strikes hard as his sword 'clinks' against his heavy armour. A mixture of bloodsweattearsmightandanger. He battles on - every last feint of strength soaring through his veins.

His legs weary. His stomach gripping. His lips parched.
Night and day. No rest for the wanted. No rest for the weak.

Suddenly, a gush of blood stains the sand below his feet. A soaring pain shoots across his belly like a saw to a tree. Like waking up before the ending of a happy dream. Like losing a 100m race by a millisecond.

He turns around and falls to the ground only to catch a glimpse of his prosecutor. He fought hard to resist only to fall and catch his last breath.

Twas the end of his 50 year reign. His body is weak but his mind is gold.

Nervosa

She looked in the mirror and proceedes to turn away from the mere shame and disregard for herself and her flesh and blood. Tears streamed incessantly. Mind spaced out and foggy. Her abdomen - cramped with hunger.

To her, an imperfect body reflects an imperfect person. Perfection in her eyes was an imperfection of the norm. Bones framed her tiny build. Slight, some people might say. She looks out of the window. The cold, damp weather - unkind and overbearing. Like the torrentious draft of wind that shudders her down to the bone.

Tired and weary. Emaciated and Pulverised.

10 years passed. Slowly.
The battle was gradually and then suddenly lifted. Like a sharp piercing bolt of light through the darkest nights.

It finally occured to her.

As the facade she clung onto wittled away, she gathered steam and reached out for help.
All that's left now is a scarred face..

Maybe..

He spoke and looked back into his exorbitant, unconscionable past only to recover the inexplicable ways of torment and gross surreality. His mind loose and weary from that final anticipatory hit. Brown, his friends called it. He clenches his fist and holds his head in his hand, hard.

Across, a mere acquaintance captivated and stunned with empathy and compassion. Bleeding into the fixation of these horrifying events. Events, un-erasable, brutal to say the least. His stepfather.

Young as he was, threatened to silence.

Maybe his mother was to blame in all of this. Maybe his father should have stuck by. Maybe his brother deserved less to never have left home. Maybe his guts failed him when it mattered the most.

Maybe he was just a number in all of this and time was up. Destiny had been unfair to him.

He cracked and tore himself up. Memories of unprecedented neglect and deprivation. Feeble in pride. Unfortunately, too proud at heart. A huge bump in the road will slowly be mended. Therapy and de-abandonment for shovels and sticks. A spark of faith.

The battle, not won yet but is due, in time.
The words 'candor dat viribus alas' echoed in his head.

Sincerity gives wings to strength.. Strength gives wings to courage.

Lose the number.