He creeps, body bent in pain

He creeps, body bent in pain, hands clenched, eyes hooded and drooped and lined with years of endless agony. People spare a glance or two in his direction, but they don't look for long. He catches a young girl staring, lips slightly parted, a lopsided ice lolly melting in her hand, but he quickly averts his gaze. People don't tend to stare out of politeness and civility, but when they do, their gazes feel like daggers in the back of his head.

He takes a lumbering step forwards, each movement a behemoth of a task, sending sharp needles of agony through his body. He stumbles and steps, and stumbles again.

He knows not where he goes, but wherever he is, he's made it this far. With a loud moan filled with torment, he sits himself down in a chair closest to him. He looks around with diseased, half-seeing, half-blind eyes and hums to himself, finding condolence from his own voice.

"Excuse me, sir." Her voice cuts distinctly through his trance. "Excuse me, this space is reserved for members. Do you have a membership, sir?"

He thinks, but his mind won't function. Somewhere in the corner of his mind, his brain makes his mouth finally form a word. "Nno." He slurs, shutting his eyes.

"Well, may I ask you to move please, sir?"

With a never-ending, dull ache, and the with force of an elephant, he stands creakily with a grunt of pain, and stumbles on again. The door swings open in front of him, and he steps out, his throbbing feet thudding into the concrete floor before him.

"What I wouldn't give to be young again," He says, but nobody hears. The girl outside is still staring, and this time, he doesn't look away. He attempts a smile before he goes on, and the girl watches expressionless, as the frail little old man presses on again.

It gives me great happiness to have lived this life. There were things I should have done, things maybe I shouldn't have. But at least it was me who lived it. Right to the last second.