Help

His vision swam into blackness for a split second, but just long enough for his brain to register the pain that followed on each passing second of the fall. A few things registered in slow motion and he wondered vaguely if this was what dying felt like. If anyone would have told him he’d be dead by now, he’d tell them to get their facts right. Not only that. By the time that thought finished registering in his mind, he was flat on the cold concrete and his body gave out completely as darkness took over once more.

No longer aware of the world, the pain, or anything else, he slipped into the welcoming arms of unconsciousness. And, as he finally succumbed to the numbness that seemed to pervade the world around him, he wished his life was better than getting beat up by men he didn’t know. It wasn’t about the pain. Or the lack thereof. Growing up, he’d been hit before—many times—and he knew how to handle himself better than most. It was the fact that he feared he wouldn’t live lo