It was a crisp autumn day. I was sitting upon the leaf-ridden earth, under a shelter of dying foliage. light was collecting on the drooping leaves, pooling around the cracking edges. It spilled from the cracks, dripping onto my face. My surroundings were marked by a web of twisting shadows etched by the sun, through gaps between the leaves. I sat there, face twisted tightly, tending a broken ankle.
The day was of moderate temperature. The sun brought some warmth, but the wind caried an eery coldness, and dusted the land with it. A chill that put goosebumps on my skin. I was sure I could not stand.
John and I were playing tag. I was never as fast as him. But I had tried, all the same, to match his pace. This was my reward. The pain was shooting arrows from my ankle all the way up into my guts and chest, leaving me immobilized, nothing to do but to rest in crumpled, lifeless defeat.
I was sure this was the end.
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The Only Joe 