h4rry
Jan 28, 2013
Writing Feedback / I pinch myself but easily notice this isn't a dream; Creative Writing [3]
Creative writing
The adrenaline before a Saturday game is unrealistic. The cold air hitting you when you step out of the door. The smells of the neighbour's bacon butties making your tummy rumble or is that just the butterflies in there too? The prematch stretches for the intimate game ahead. The car blasting out warm air beating your face warming your insides and out. The car journey lasting for ages even though it's just down the motorway. The music calming you down and chilling you out. You arrive on the pebbled road meandering up to a swamp. The car stops and doors open. Your brand new football boots touch the floor. The excitement of the beginning of the season is everlasting. The teams gather up and shake hands. The ref with a cold and a croaky voice murmurs out, "Captains please," in a rather Scottish accent. It's our kick what we always want to we can take advantage. The whistle blows and we are off.
The enthusiastic spectators chanting for their team. I get the ball but lose control of my legs and I'm off like a dog chasing a stick, I carry on running doing tricks that are out of this world in an instant I pass to a teammate. Unexpectedly I get the ball back and I am off again. I get to the corner and look up to see the 6 ft. beast in the box, I cross it in and he heads it in. 5 minutes gone and already we are winning by one goal to nill.
It is now the other teams time to attack and the striker is prone to all teams to score every time he touches the ball. My teammate hits the deck and goes it for a crucial sliding tackle. The ball flies out of play and the linesman confused points that it is our ball. The game is like a hill and we have the easy bit of running down the hill to the goal. I chest the ball from the throw in and overhead kick it the keeper falls to the floor as it manoeuvres over his head like a concord. Goal!! Two goals to nill.
Our manager shouts to the ref "sub please "I cross my fingers and hope that I don't go off. Favourably it's not me. By half time its five goals to nil and the opponents are rehearsing what they are going to do. The ref shouts the teams to play again. The striker glares at me in annoyance. I earn the ball once again and I run down the wing. The striker out of position chases me and my legs are running out of control. I get to the corner and the striker is still running at me. I turn my head like an owl and look at him. His eyes are squinting and his feet lift of the floor and are now in an arrow shape. In a split second his studs in his boot indent my stomach. I drop to the floor and all I can see is a dark, dim and clouded negative space. All I know is I am hurt and I can't do anything about it.
I come around and my eyes are a bit baffled all I see is a bland white room. I then see a vibrant green jacket with a peachy coloured face on top. When I finally realised where I am. I see that I'm in a dingy hospital. The nurse kind of holding back and reluctant I as "what's wrong". She is trying to say something in the nicest possible way. She finally spits out words in a fast fashion. All I catch is " you....play...football....ever...again...you....areï ïï...paralysed" I looked at my legs and saw the devastating news. I pinch myself but easily notice this isn't a dream. My life is now going to be me suffering.
Creative writing
The adrenaline before a Saturday game is unrealistic. The cold air hitting you when you step out of the door. The smells of the neighbour's bacon butties making your tummy rumble or is that just the butterflies in there too? The prematch stretches for the intimate game ahead. The car blasting out warm air beating your face warming your insides and out. The car journey lasting for ages even though it's just down the motorway. The music calming you down and chilling you out. You arrive on the pebbled road meandering up to a swamp. The car stops and doors open. Your brand new football boots touch the floor. The excitement of the beginning of the season is everlasting. The teams gather up and shake hands. The ref with a cold and a croaky voice murmurs out, "Captains please," in a rather Scottish accent. It's our kick what we always want to we can take advantage. The whistle blows and we are off.
The enthusiastic spectators chanting for their team. I get the ball but lose control of my legs and I'm off like a dog chasing a stick, I carry on running doing tricks that are out of this world in an instant I pass to a teammate. Unexpectedly I get the ball back and I am off again. I get to the corner and look up to see the 6 ft. beast in the box, I cross it in and he heads it in. 5 minutes gone and already we are winning by one goal to nill.
It is now the other teams time to attack and the striker is prone to all teams to score every time he touches the ball. My teammate hits the deck and goes it for a crucial sliding tackle. The ball flies out of play and the linesman confused points that it is our ball. The game is like a hill and we have the easy bit of running down the hill to the goal. I chest the ball from the throw in and overhead kick it the keeper falls to the floor as it manoeuvres over his head like a concord. Goal!! Two goals to nill.
Our manager shouts to the ref "sub please "I cross my fingers and hope that I don't go off. Favourably it's not me. By half time its five goals to nil and the opponents are rehearsing what they are going to do. The ref shouts the teams to play again. The striker glares at me in annoyance. I earn the ball once again and I run down the wing. The striker out of position chases me and my legs are running out of control. I get to the corner and the striker is still running at me. I turn my head like an owl and look at him. His eyes are squinting and his feet lift of the floor and are now in an arrow shape. In a split second his studs in his boot indent my stomach. I drop to the floor and all I can see is a dark, dim and clouded negative space. All I know is I am hurt and I can't do anything about it.
I come around and my eyes are a bit baffled all I see is a bland white room. I then see a vibrant green jacket with a peachy coloured face on top. When I finally realised where I am. I see that I'm in a dingy hospital. The nurse kind of holding back and reluctant I as "what's wrong". She is trying to say something in the nicest possible way. She finally spits out words in a fast fashion. All I catch is " you....play...football....ever...again...you....areï ïï...paralysed" I looked at my legs and saw the devastating news. I pinch myself but easily notice this isn't a dream. My life is now going to be me suffering.
