(as written by Cormac McCarthy)
Do you remember me? Am I remembered?
Each day I remember. I remember to curse a god who isnt there for this knee. This knee that has gone numb, its final gift the cold sharpness of pain. Sharper than rapiers. Sharper than steel.
I look across the gray sky at him. I look at him as he arches his arm high above his head. He manages and I stare down at the clipped grass. I press my clipboard hard in my hand. I almost let it go, almost throw it down. I dont. The rain begins.
It rains and I stare at the one with the moustache.
Can we run the wildcat this time, I ask.
No, he says.
I have thought about death. In my darkest hours, when I am shirtless and at my most frail, I have thought about death. But death is not my friend. We are unbeaten. We are untied. But I am getting cold now.