The Man of a Thousand Faces

Underneath his naked feet, rocks angrily jabbed at the mans smooth, raw flesh causing a deep internal ach in each step he took along the beach. Halfway there, he desperately sought the weightlessness of the water. Though his arms were carved of muscle, he wanted relief from the luggage he had always carried with him. Eight bags. As he neared the water he began to set each down slowly, one by one. As he set the first bag down, he could taste the salt upon his lips as be began to weep. Deeply and pitifully. The tears still falling down his face steps later, he set down the second. As he did, he looked over his shoulder, his heart quickened for a beat, and he picked up his pace. Not as fast as he once was, his joints began to hurt in complaint. He suddenly dropped the third and his mouth became agape, his eye brows arched, and he gasped for a breath. He looked at his hands before leaving his fourth bag. The skin was loose around the bones and dark spots were scattered about his skin. He threw down his fourth bag

This story has no comments.