I've always pondered on deaths door, but he's never opened. I could care less about the hell and heaven shenanigans, but death. I want it. The end of my life.
I want to be in my suit, in my coffin, in the ground and my soul to be gone. I've been wa...
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"Let's bring it home!" I don't glance back at my coach as he yells at us. I'm breathing heavily, the clock ticking down with 10 minutes left in the game.
We're winning, but only by 1. It's 4-3 and Massachusetts is pushing to win.
"Get your head in the game!" I glance over my shoulder to see Dylan screaming at me, so I run to the zone watching as our teammate runs with the ball in his net.
The crowd is extra loud tonight, I can even see my sister looking not so high.
A defenseman attaches himself to me. This guy has been on my tail the entire game. I struggle to get away from him so I try to figure out a way out. I'm somehow able to give myself enough room to get away from him. "Duarte, focus!" My coach yells as the ball gets thrown into my net.
I effortlessly catch it and I do what I must. I sprint for the goal, dodging the opposite team's players. I'm successful until I see one of the opponents charging at me. I brace my shoulder for impact, but the guy goes down, picking me up and throwing me over himself.
I fall to the ground as my vision becomes blurry for a second. I clench my eyes shut in an attempt to stop my head from spinning. The crowd is quiet and whispers are exchanged. I try to stand back up however I immediately fall back to my knees. My head is pounding and I feel the ref's hands on me as I stay on my hands and knees. "You alright, Duarte?"
I'm struggling to even comprehend his question when I hear a whistle piercing through the air. "Astor! Break it up!"
I manage to open my eyes and look up to see that Dylan tackled the guy who threw me to the ground. I can't look long though since it feels like the field lights are too bright, that I could go blind.
I have to get up. I can't stay down.
I feel another pair of hands on me. "Come on, kid." I recognize my coach's voice as I keep my back hunched, walking towards the bench.
They set me down on the bench, but the game is still going on. My head starts to feel like it's straightening out as I undo the strap of my helmet to take it off.
I blink a few times to see our team's nurse shaking his head. He chuckles a bit before he looks directly into my eyes. "Do you know where you are?"
"Hamptons," I answer. He's checking me for a concussion.
"What's your full name?"
"Noah Aeron Duarte."
"Do you know what happened?"
"I got thrown over an opponent."
He takes a step back, holding up his fingers. "How many fingers am I holding up."
"Seven." He nods before he tells me to stand up. "Stand on each foot for five seconds." I do as he says before he asks, "Are you feeling nauseous?"
I shake my head. "I just feel like I got thrown over someone. Just give me a sec and I'll be back on the field."
