Daniel Rollé
A view from...
My once shiny, mirror-like appearance is now reduced to a mud-stained spectre of my leather clad self. A thousand marches through dirt and dust have scuffed my material; the rain and snow have made of me a weather beaten rag. My insides fester and rot, my worn material mouldy from the putrid body fluids that have engulfed me so many times. I feel used and dirty, not the once gleaming, proud article of my hopeful past. I have changed, violated by the pain and suffering my colleagues and I endure every day.
Hands, cut and scarred, pick me up roughly and fling me across the room. I am ripped open and the being thrusts his foot into me, stretching me and tearing my golden brown stitching. As I am slammed down upon the stone cold dirty floor, arrows of pain sear through my sole. The beating continues as others join me, all stomping in unison creating a loud, hollow thudding noise which echoes a hundred times off the grimy walls.
A view from...
My once shiny, mirror-like appearance is now reduced to a mud-stained spectre of my leather clad self. A thousand marches through dirt and dust have scuffed my material; the rain and snow have made of me a weather beaten rag. My insides fester and rot, my worn material mouldy from the putrid body fluids that have engulfed me so many times. I feel used and dirty, not the once gleaming, proud article of my hopeful past. I have changed, violated by the pain and suffering my colleagues and I endure every day.
Hands, cut and scarred, pick me up roughly and fling me across the room. I am ripped open and the being thrusts his foot into me, stretching me and tearing my golden brown stitching. As I am slammed down upon the stone cold dirty floor, arrows of pain sear through my sole. The beating continues as others join me, all stomping in unison creating a loud, hollow thudding noise which echoes a hundred times off the grimy walls.
