The Bronze Lion

The wind was biting at my cheeks as I studied the cuts on my hands. How clumsy I had been! And pretty childish too, only so that I could climb the base of Nelson’s column. But what was I supposed to do? At least I hadn’t been silly enough to climb the bronze lions as well. 

But now, as I sat onto the hundred year old stone and squinted towards the fiery sunset, I felt at peace. I ceased to care about my frozen cheekbones, or the crimson cuts that now adorned my calloused hands. For a single instant, I was alone.

Until eventually I too had to go home. So I slid down the cold stone and proceeded to walk home, shivering.