[That was the most cringe line I have ever heard.]
A bitter, pained laugh escaped me, tasting of blood and dust. It hurt my ribs, but I couldn't stop.
Cringe?
Please spare me the ignorance.
I leaned against a chunk of broken wall, my body one giant, throbbing ache.
That cringe line belongs to heroes, right? All their speeches about hope and justice and never giving up.
They get to have their moments. They get the swelling music.
And whatever belongs to villains? Sneers and monologues about power.
But guess who ends up being defeated? The one who stops to enjoy the sound of their own voice. The one who thinks style is more important than survival.
[...]
So what's next?
I pushed off the wall, my legs feeling like over-cooked noodles.
I needed a goal. A direction. Something to focus on besides the symphony of pain my body was playing.
[You actually survived this]
The words appeared, but they felt flat. More an observation than a celebration.
Surprised?
