The Race

Ahead was the bustle of the street, with lights and cars and people hurrying to and fro.  He could hear the calls from the burger trolleys and nut sellers.

Through the gaps in his fingers he could see flashes of cars, taxis, buses, the smoke from exhausts and the steam from people's mouths rising and disappearing as they hurried along with packages and bags, xmas presents for children, wives, husbands, mothers and daughters, then another flash of bright white as the trainer slammed into his hands, snapping his neck back with it's venom.

Keeping his hands to his face, and his arms protecting his ribs, he tried to move towards the light, inching along on his knees, trying to keep focus. Peering through his fingers he saw the trainers stepping back, readying to smash him again.  He swerved to the right just at the right time and the assailant missed completely and fell backwards.

This was it!  His chance at freedom from the next onslaught of pain.  He withdrew his hands from his face and clutched at the wall for a hold, digging his nails into brick he dragged his body to his feet and tried to run.  But the pain he had endured and the power of the first blow slowed him.

A dense fog drifted into his vision and the lights looked like a slow release photograph and his brain couldn't decipher the image.  Still, fear has it's own drive and fear pushed him on.  like a bear in treacle he waded through the pain. Holding onto the wall he dragged his aching body towards the confused fairy lights of the street.

He heard the quick fist coming and fell to his knees automatically.  The fist hit the wall above his head and his attacker screamed in pain.

Crawling seemed safer so he crawled, his bruised hands squashing stuff his brain didn't or wouldn't recognise under him until he was almost in the light.  The last words he heard were:  "you're dead now you bastard!"  Hissed through the teeth of his assailant as the final blow shattered his skull against the wall.