TUINSTRA: or The Chronicles of Schoolboys and Their Infallible Deeds

Chapter Three: Horatio

tw: racist violence, discussion of homophobia 

September 30, 1904

The Football Pitch, Tuinstra Academy

When Horatio's head collided with the wet ground, his blood splattered and stained the willow green grass below. Distantly, he heard someone yell his name and a blurry splotch of beige entered within his frame of sight. He inhaled deeply, blinking several times to eventually see the pudgy, red face of Dimitrios Eliades.

Dimitrios gawked down at him, hazel eyes as large as dinner plates and full of knowing fear. "Oh no," He murmured. "Fitzgerald is going to be so mad..." Horatio wanted nothing more than to mockingly raise his thick brows and reply with some smart remark but his head was still puzzled and aching from the impact. He panted and met Dimirios' gaze with a look of indignation.

"Eliades!" Immediately, he recognized the voice shouting as Jesse Fitzgerald's, the incredibly unofficial captain of their club. The older boy bent down to Dimitrios' level, looking near identical with their striped uniforms, tossed dark hair, and squinted expressions. "My lord, Eliades," Jesse murmured. "I warned you last week when you very nearly fractured Belikov's ankle that you needed to quit your shoving. Now look at what you've caused." He scoffed and shook his head. "Are you quite alright, Agosti?"

"Oh." Horatio hesitated. "I suppose. Wait, no–no, no I'm perfectly well I think I can start playing again–" Amos came into his line of sight. He frowned. "Never mind, I feel horrid."

Amos scoffed and glanced over at Jesse. "Will he need to be taken to the infirmary?"

Jesse sighed and sucked his lips into a flat, concentrated line. "I'm not sure," He said after a while. "He seems to only be punch drunk but it wouldn't hurt to check for injuries. Help me lift him." Both Jesse and Amos crouched down to take Horatio under his arms and lift him from the ground. He sat in an upright position, glaring at the football that lay still from across the pitch. He was about to make yet another goal when Eliades had suddenly rammed into him, causing him to stumble over the ball and fall onto the grass. He probably looked like a petulant child, sulking with his broad shoulders slumped forward.

He felt a hand press at the back of his head and he jolted from the pain. He turned to look over his shoulder and met the gaze of a very annoyed Amos. "Stay still. I need to check how severe the bleeding is." He ordered icily and Horatio's face soured at the order. Amos reached over to brush his hand to the back of his head again, but before he could Horatio yanked himself out of his and Jesse's grip.

"I already told you I'll be alright." At the time, he wasn't sure if he'd been aware how badly his sentence had slurred together. He was determined to get spring back up and play again, as they were to play the Rafael Institute club who were going to come all the way from Andorra to play them on Halloween. Winning the first game of the year would be quite a triumph after a summer of doing nothing, a show of daunting skill to plant doubt in their rivals. It was imperative that he spend every free second to prepare for it. And so, Horatio hoisted himself up, in spite of the sharp pang of protest his head gave him.

Even if he was ready to walk on his own, his body was too limp and confused to agree. He stumbled over his own boots, causing him to buckle and tumble back down into the ground, face first into the soil. He groaned in defeat. Rolling over, he spit out the small bits of grass that had gotten into his mouth.