The Man of Few Faces

He was only strong enough to scatter few rocks as the bag settled. Cursing, he kicked them, clenched his fist and jaw, and stomped off to release the fifth bag. He did so with a rapid draw back of his hand. He looked at it on the ground with a wrinkle of his nose and raise of his lip as he walked off. He stepped on his sixth bag, knowing it would not hurt him. The corners of his mouth crawled up his face as he dropped his seventh bag. His back rebelled with a growing pain. A few more steps. His smile faded and his muscles tensed when he left his eighth,and final, bag behind him at the end of the shore line, in anticipation of the water. He stood at the edge now, water kissing his wrinkled feet. He looked down at his reflection to meet a face pinched with wrinkles, skin sagged. His hair now gray and over run with vacant, bald patches. He walked into the cool water. He could feel it rushing over every inch of his heated skin. He walked until his body was submerged. His back hurt no more. His joints thanked him

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