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This Game

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Grabbing a ball laced with red stitches, tinted yellow, a simple object not much bigger than a simplistic fist, surrounded by all the others. It has been chosen to play the game this time.

Turning from the dark fence in a rush, tossing the item into the conditioned gear on the opposing hand as the ground beneath the colored footwear blends from grass, to gravel, to grainy dirt.

Stepping over the white line separating us from them, entering the territory they only dreamed of since who knows when. Yet the heart is telling the user they have been waiting longingly for this moment for an eternity.

Taking the land in stride – rivals and friends have started long before the beating heart joined them. They wait for the new piece of the match to take their rightful place once again.

Stomp on the high-raised lump hidden in light brown, imagining the world spectating the show. The determined heart is the center of attention right off the bat - no, before then.

Foot strategically smashes into the dirtied plaque into its practiced place, squirming around until satisfied.

Just a catch with a friend. That’s all their heart has time to chant.

Without thought, the swift motion of an arm flies full circle, releasing the kept sphere clasped by the hovering arm's palm. It's been set free. No imprisonment. Their new environment consists of only air, power, and legacy. No more waiting.

Shaking heads perk up in all directions, the ball soaring above the heads of teammate and judge.

The next two action’s end similarly, though the third one was a close call.

The opposing person near the companion dress up into their full battle armor, ready for a hopefully fair conflict.

Words are spoken in the gated space, then clearer by the judge in front of the star, a little few tens of feet distance.

Number five on 1.

One more – that’s all we need.

Number six of the order retreats, my allies return with wide grins, whole smiles, good minds, full hearts.

Three strokes, and the hard-fought war is won.

Coming back to their senses, the selected foe makes fearful eye contact, bringing high the weapon of destruction upon my people, ready for the kill.

Raising the instigator, the execution is only beginning.

It fails.

Ten minutes pass in stiff trudges back into original position. The neck is experiencing creaks due to the growing number of opponents on all sides, the heart is trying to comprehend everything. Most notably was number three, whose goal was to only reach the other side of my partner in crime safely. Hope is almost lost.


Count: two-two.

Body shifts up again to avoid any mistake, heart pulsing, heat consuming, stress induced.

Yes! Perfect!

The enemy swings their magnificent tool, the ball now shooting into the sky. Not just any sky, no, it was their sky that fateful day.

Looking above, the realization the catch is a mere yard away crashes down instantly.

Diving, the world morphed into a massive blur, the minimal vision picks up on the far-out teammates sprinting towards the scene.

Closing the hand, one can't miss the caught game ball lodged into the padded glove.

We won, we won, we won!

The whole crew joins the ecstatic team in the field.

Laughs, smiles, joyful comments, one never overlooks anything, but only truly remembers one key thought transpiring in their heads over and over and over again-

I love this game – I love softball.