I have a writing assignment for a group I attend. The assignment is to choose a line from a song and use it as a prompt. This will be my random thoughts on that subject:

I’m never gonna dance again, guilty feet have got no rhythm

Frank stumbled in panic, his guilt found out. He’d paid someone to disable his figure skating competitor and now, here he was, unable to perform himself. The pain that must have screamed through Joe’s leg, now screamed in echo in Frank’s own muscles.
“You’re ok,”
He tried to calm himself with words, knowing that the pain he felt, the stumbling and clumsiness that he didn’t seem able to control, was all psychological in origin. Into the arena he sped on skates that seemed too slippery and to have a mind of their own. He performed the first half of his routine with little grace but he hoped the judges wouldn’t notice now that they didn’t have Joe to compare him with.
Zip, zip, over the ice he sped and then started his signature spin. This time the spin went on and on and he thought it was a good thing until it spun him into a dizzy unconsciousness.
He woke to whispered voices and downcast eyes.
“What’s wrong,” he shouted in a voice that sounded like a shovel grating on ice.
“I’m sorry,” a white coated man said. I saved your leg, but you twisted it so badly, you won’t ever be able to dance again.
The words of that song pounded in Frank’s head, pounded also in his feet and legs as he remembered, Guilty feet have got no rhythm. His guilty feet throbbed in agreement.

You got to know when to hold em, know when to fold em, know when to walk away, know when to run

If only he’d remembered that song when he was in the midst of the heist, Jonathan thought, he’d have folded up and run away. As it was now, he was nursing two arms that had required extensive surgery followed by skin grafts and a lot of pain.
On that bright sunny day his friends Bobby and Austin had been at the beach in an isolated spot with him, just hitting the waves and catching the rays, when Austin had spotted a large cooler setting unattended.
“I’ll bet there’s some beer in there,” he told the others. “Let’s get it.”
No one had objected and so all three of them had headed for the cooler. Bobby was the first to open the lid. Inside was an array of beer and sandwich makings. The beer was what attracted the boys, however.
“Let’s take the whole thing. There’s nobody here to stop us,” Bobby said.
Jonathan grabbed on side of the cooler and Bobby the other. Austin trailed along beside them saying,
“I can’t wait for a nice cold beer. Nice of that guy to leave it for us, wasn’t it?”
Crack, crack, bullets whooshed across the sand and Jonathan dropped his end of the cooler, staring in shock at his mangled wrists. The bullet had gone across the handle of the cooler hitting both his wrists. He screamed and fell to the ground as more bullets spun toward them and Bobby was hit in the shoulder. Austin was sprinting away but not fast enough. His leg was hit and he went down.
Pain and fear caused Jonathan to faint he guessed, because he was awakened by the paramedics who’d been called. The nightmare that followed, having to explain to his parents that he was a thief, as well as the police, the pain, the doctors, surgeries, and all left a scar inside him as well as on his arms which he’d never be able to use normally.
“Yes,” he reflected, “If I’d only known when to fold them, to tell my friends ‘I’m outta the game’ and walk away early I’d have avoided all this. Now I have a permanent reminder for life.”