He looks up at the bright blue sky falling on his back, bruises confuses his solid beefy eye lids, tempered by fists and put downs.
He uncontrollably smiles, laughs and gets up, dusts his pants and keeps running, while the wind blows by his ears the birds sing.
His name, shaped by the current above the clouds and uncluttered space above, his will and sharp wit flies him amongst the giant fluffy wings in the sky.
He said himself: When I grow up, I'll never forget this moment, where dirt and blood and the taste of never giving up smells like the incense of fire that drives the passion from his heart to his finger tips.
Clench and pulls himself up.