Assault.

Assault.

I could feel blood oozing from my mouth and nose. I knew at least two of my fingers on my right hand were broken, or dislocated at the very least. My ribs felt as if a truck had rolled over them and it was proving difficult to breathe. I tried to shout for help, but all I heard was gurgling and wheezing.

The sound of fast flowing water was very close by. I tried to roll onto my back but couldn't feel my legs. Why weren't they moving? I needed help, but the overpowering dullness in my head was clouding my perception. With no real sensory feeling in my right hand and wrist I tried to use my left hand to try to find my phone.

That's when I saw that my left hand was already badly bruised. It made me concentrate on focusing on one thing and not several points of pain all at the same time. The thumb on my left hand was facing a way it shouldn't naturally. It actually made me laugh for some strange reason.

That's when I saw the street light on the side of the bridge. As I held my hand up, the light of the lantern silhouetted my misshapen hand. The bridge had never before looked so beautiful in the moonlight. The faint blue under lighting, quiet stillness of the night and wisps of summertime mist gave the village a surreal haunting look.

I don't know how long I stared at such a stunning sight. Never before had I taken the time to view such beauty, but how often had I been in this spot?

I think I may have drifted off as I do remember not hearing anyone cross the bridge for some time. The opening of a pub door and traditional music wafting out into the night, reawoke me. Pain coursed through my every orifice and I tried to sit up. Everywhere hurt, and I mean everywhere.

Moving at all made me wince and moan. But only I could hear my own screams - the deafening roar of the river beside me hid my whining. Using a large flat stone for leverage, I tried my very best to prop myself up. But it was to no use - I was far too weak and sore to move. What scared and hurt me most was my right leg - it was definitely broken.

I had managed to crawl about twenty feet to the underside of the bridge, along the waters edge. Shouting didn't work as my head had been kicked in so badly, it was probably affecting my vocal chords. God only knows what my face looked like. My phone was nowhere to be found, unless it had fallen out of my pocket as I crawled along the riverbank.
    
The night had started out so well. We had just won the county championship by two points yesterday and I had scored six of those in the final. The fact I had played for the losing team three years prior did not sit well with everyone. I was called every childish name under the sun by the losers and their supporters. Mere sticks and stones - but then they went and most likely, broke my bones.

I spotted a muddy bank, lined with all manner of briars and weeds, that led to the top of the bridge and the road that crossed it. My only chance of survival and getting help quickly, was to clamber up through the undergrowth.

A light path of sorts was my runway through my current hell. Dragging ones own body weight up a slippery slope of mud and blood sapped my energy. I had to take several little breaks en route to conserve vital pockets of resistance. I did slip downward on two occasions, but like in life, I didn't let a tiny setback halt my determination for salvation.

As I came within ten feet of that bridge side lantern, I took my final break before my final assault on my night's mountain. With broken bones but strong spirit, I somehow managed to struggle to the summit. Gripping the edge of the path on the roadside was like I was planting the Irish flag on Everest. I fell back against the wall of the bridge and propped myself upright.

Twelve hours later I woke in a hospital bed, surrounded by friends and family. I couldn't feel any pain, mainly through the haze of powerful drugs. But I do remember one thing.

I somehow managed to mumble how I had been punched, dragged, kicked and then thrown off a bridge to my death by my ex-team mates. And the best part?

On top of that bespoke old lantern on the bridge?

The town's solitary two CCTV cameras.

Justice would be mine.