NOVUS: Persistence of who I was
The Persistence of Who I Was
He was an old man, once a visionary, now blind—not from illness but from ideals that cut deeper than any knife. Life stripped him of everything: clothes, pride, and companionship. All that remained was a body weighed down by medals nailed directly into his skin, fastened with rusted wires and makeshift nails—a grotesque tribute to his beliefs.
Each step made the metal scrape against his bones, trails of blood tracing maps across his withered flesh. The pain didn’t matter; it was his price for meaning. But hunger proved stronger than conviction. One by one, he ripped the medals from his body, selling them for scraps to survive. Each sale left a scar but bought a meal.
By the end, only his scars remained—a silent record of glory that had long decayed. Perhaps, he thought, that was the truth of ideals: they weigh more when there’s nothing left to carry but yourself.
