Short Story #2: Part I

He gets out of the car, and steps out into the early morning overcast. It's cool and breezy, but a scent of Spring wisks past his nose. Like a general scouting the battlefield before battle, he marches down and onto the athletic field. He is, the lacrosse coach. He looks over at the opposing team as they are all accounted for and assembled. He then scans around the rest of the field, and realizes something obvious. He is alone. The team he leads each week has not yet appeared from atop the entrance hill. This was not a good sign.

At last! A soldier (or, in this case a youth lacrosse player) can be seen emerging though the thicket of aligned cars, parked in symmetry at the top of the hill. The player, one of his, stands idle alongside one vehicle; with his weapon (a lacrosse stick), slung over his shoulder, along with the accompanying body armor. The player shouts outs a pre-emptive roar just before stepping onto the battleground, "Hey, mom! Did you remember to bring my fruit punch?!" Aha, a true battle-cry. It was game day!

One by one, additional players, all his, begin to appear for battle. Some still a bit weary from the previous week's fight; others a bit arrogant and unfocused. Last week's battle was a glorious victory! His team won, ten to nothing, and they were nothing short of superb! But today, they face another opponent. An opponent who is angry and disgruntled. As the opponent were not so victorous in their previous encounter. This was a match of two different story-book teams, each with something else to prove.

The game starts, and within moments of the opening whistle, 'POW!' One of 'his' players is leveled by an opposing defender. His player is laid out flat on the back. The player is slow to rise and bits of dirt fall off the player's game jersey. Strands of grass are stuck in the player's back of the helmet, as he appears shaken. All the while, the opposing team has recovered the ball, and, one pass...two pass...three pass, SHOOT! It's a goal for the opposing team. A quick roar of the crowd reverberates (most of them, parents, sipping on their cup of Starbucks coffee - or, is it a latte?) and the opposing team's emotional glee erupts in a spectacle of high-fives. On the otherside, however. 'His' side. A sense of sudden worry, and possible panic. He could only utter three words to himself. "That's not good."

....to be continued.....