Cold weather in November, most people stay inside with their hands clenching their hot chocolate. Me, I am outside in shorts and a t shirt. Some call it a game, some call it silly. I call it a battle field. I call it my sanctuary. My soccer field.
Standing there on that hard ground between the poles, I wait for the first whistle to be blown. This season has been ups and downs for the team. We played this team for all our games this season since it was just the two of us. We knew each other very well and animosity grew and grew. Most had friends on the other side but for the next sixty minutes they were the opposition.
My mind flashes back to a few games prior. The ball was traveling down with a wing man trying to race it down. I take off like a bullet out of a gun towards the ball and the enemy. Every one held their breath for they all knew we were going to collide head on with each other. I was more worried about the ball and let myself totally open. The opposition lowered his shoulder and braced for impact…
My body has been bloodied, beaten, and almost broken from the previous battles. Still waiting and warming up for the game me reminiscent again. Every single game before we were beaten with not so much as a struggle from us. This game feels different. There is more electricity in the air. The team is charged up. We can win this war. The whistle blows… The champion is…
Life’s a battle field, leave it all out there doesn’t regret not giving it you’re all.
I like the imagery used in your story. I can also relate, as I'm sure others can to your experiences with sports. As a suggestion, I would try to relate soccer more to life, since your main point is that life is a battlefield.
ReplyDeleteCool story, but try to use more imagery and like Dr. King said; "show not tell".
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