A Halo of Thorns 2- Microfiction in the Age of the Coronavirus
I see an old man walking around downtown sometimes. He uses a staff to steady himself as his posture is bent double. Must be in his 80s. When I see him, I always think to myself: that might be me someday.
He's a poor man. Hauls around whatever he can, which is not much given his physical condition. I feel sorry for this man and wish I knew his story. I saw him a few days ago, walking along the solitary streets, abandoned now because of the pandemic. What are his thoughts as the walls of civilization tremble all about him. I felt a tinge of sadness, yet I don't feel sorry for him anymore. I know that he is a fellow warrior, and he will fight unti the end.
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