I've always had a feeling that I would die young. Ever since I started pondering on deaths door I've had this feeling. 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...
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Why am I always running backwards? I'm huffing and puffing as I jog backwards with my stick cradling in my hands. Coach got us doing these weird practices he made up himself to help with reflexes and team building.
I feel the adrenaline coursing through my body as my heart thumps in sync with my movements. "Faster!" Coach Foley yells at us as he watches. I can sense the burning from my legs.
I glance to my right to see Dre just dragging his feet against the grass without his stick. I can tell he's had a rough night. Not sure why, but he did.
I'm really struggling with practice today. I'm low on coke and when I mean low, I mean I have enough to last me just before we leave for Michigan. I've tried scraping off my keys, cards, desk and the empty packet. I've got nothing. Zain is out of town which means the town is out of drugs. The headache from the absence of the sweet drug is making me feel like I'm dead.
Soon enough, coach Foley blows his whistle. "Stop! Come here!" We run over to him before he hands us all a red piece of fabric. "Thanks coach, I really needed something to put my hair back-" Atlas asks as he ties it as a headband to push his hair back.
"It's a blindfold, Williams. You're going to do some team building. You need to communicate before passing the ball to one another." He hands me the ball before he blows his whistle. We quickly run back onto the field, tightening our blindfolds.
Once I pull it down, everything goes dark. Well, this is a lot harder than expected. I search for the net, placing the ball. "Marco!" I yell, tightening my grip on my stick as I spin around looking for someone to throw the ball to.
"Polo!" I hear someone call however I'm unaware on who it is. "No! Names! Not Marco, Polo!" Foley blows his whistle again.
I sigh deeply, cracking my neck. "Uh- Brett?" I tilt my head to the side.
"Yeah?" He answers. "Get ready!" I spin my body to the sound of his voice. I hear the shuffling of my cleats against the grass as I raise my stick to throw the ball.
Flinging the ball across the field, waiting for him to say he got the ball. There is a moment of silence and anticipation. "Did he catch the ball?" I wonder.
Still not a single noise. "Coach?" Calling for him. "You didn't even throw the ball." Oh.
I drop my face before flinging my stick again. I keep flinging it until my arms start hurting. I'm starting to think that this exercise is just so coach can laugh at us.
"Did he catch it?" I ask coach again. "No, it fell out of your net and is now by your feet." Dammit! I drop to the grass, searching for the ball.
I tap everywhere, but feel absolutely nothing. My nose begins to itch as I continue my search. "Duarte! Get your girlfriend off the field!" Huh? I take off my blindfold to see Arti storming onto the field.
