The Stadium of Scorn - B
Soul Snack 140/10 ...The Stadium of Scorn - Part B
Dust was whipped up around the withered frame, as yet again he crouched tearfully in the semi-dark, daub hut. No door on the doorway ensured the outside elements would soon arrive inside the hut. The poverty of his life simply mirrored the state of this young soul. His most recent and foolishly hopeful foray into The Stadium of Scorn had simply multiplied his wounds and confirmed the inaccurate self-beliefs of his cantankerous soul.
An unknown shadow had fallen across his crestfallen figure. He looked up. A dishevelled, life-worn figure gazed down on him with eyes of great gentleness that this waif had never seen. Their eyes met, drawing them together, but the boy glanced quickly away. He did not know of such kindness, nor how to respond. It was that cantankerous soul again.
The Man of Sorrows had now come to meet this tender Boy of Sorrows, exactly where this poor boy was at.
With the innocence of boyhood, the waif looked up again and bravely glanced a warm, inviting, outstretched hand - he was only accustomed to seeing extended clenched fists. With the innocence of boyhood, he took that scarred hand without hesitation or question. This time his cantankerous soul would not interfere. It could not tell him to fear, distrust or flee because NOW the Man of Sorrows held the Boy of Sorrows.
The Stadium of Scorn was still outside, but now life inside was feeling that much better. His cantankerous soul had suddenly become so much quieter.