By The Voice
His lungs burned but Adam pushed on. Early morning light filtered through the trees. The footpath curved around and into infinity. Every day he ran in the park to stay fit and to clear his mind: his morning ritual. Echoes of nightmares still sounded in his dreams, memories of explosions and gunfire. Running seemed to be the only thing that chased them off. The bench lay just ahead. He stopped, as he always did to rest. Looking down, he admired the two long flat pieces of metal where his legs once were. His salvation. They kept him running.