Black Stag

Buttercups and Bluebells

TW: Discussions of Miscarriages. 

The green pitch had always found its way to envelop James' soul, the chalk sketched on top of it, marking out each section of the court too. He's well aware that football seems downright arbitrary to the preponderance of people. He, on the other hand, found it to be wholly the opposite. Strangely enough, his school had too. His school was so prestigious he'd found it off they'd found honor in such a violence-inducing sport, perhaps it had to do with them being one of the best teams in the country, he hadn't doubted they'd find it just as useless had they been utter crap at it.

For him, the first time he'd set foot on their pitch, he'd let himself be engulfed as he was hit with an overwhelming sense of need. He was initially stared at for being so young, but the hope and desire had already surged into his veins and he'd already begun allowing himself to dream, and for James, that was enough to succeed. There was a sensuality to the sharp movement of his feet as the side of his foot darted into the ball. He didn't know this was his thing; he simply felt it, which were two completely different things.

He'd felt reborn.

He thinks it is silly to admit it. How could something so simple mean so much? Something others had seen as 'just a sport' or a game for the 'lads', but this was his. His steps were quick and sure. He hadn't just kicked the ball to his teammate or pounded it right into the net, he was given a being. When he'd tried out, he allowed himself to feel his studs dig into the floor, as he listened to the sound of silent murmurs amongst the older years, as they'd watched him measure the time he could take to get it up and down the pitch without allowing for interception. Now he was the captain. James doesn't feel he deserves many of the things he gets; wealth, his parents, his friends, his entire life. But this, this is the one thing he deserves.

His mother had told him that the most precious thing you can give someone is your time. It's an irreversible gift. He'd decided he'd give football this gift.

He'd be out there after supper, making a swish of his foot and heeding the sound of the ball whacking against the spider's web. Sometimes another teammate would join him, and when fatigue would slowly seep into their bodies, draining out their energy until they became stagnant, he'd remain determined. He'd permit himself to watch them wilt and turn to leave. Occasionally, he'd find himself laughing at their exhaustion as he continued to volley, backheel, and practise pullback V's with an imaginary partner as the sweat would pool into his waves of curls.

It was the first time he'd felt worthy of his parents' love.

Euphemia and Fleamont Potter wanted bounds of kids. They'd wanted the hectic mornings, shouting at their children to help find one of the other children's lost shoes before they were late. They'd wanted a family supper where they'd sit at the wooden table, etched with pencil marks and paint splatters, where they'd go around the table and they'd each discuss their day in detail. They'd wanted an abundance of people they'd give up their lives for, children they'd promise devotion to. They would dance with them in the kitchen, chasing them around with fingers that had turned into monsters. It was their right. James' childhood was filled with innocence. He was allowed time to wonder, to be safe, and to be blanketed by the comforts of true love. He discovered his passion, was even encouraged by his father, who would dedicate his free time to kicking about a ball with him. It provided James with the health he's allowed now- permitted him with the option to believe, to hope. They deserved the bounds.

However, after their first six losses, they began to give up. Each time their hearts tore in two, Euphemia believed her body was broken; this was her destiny. She was failed by herself. They were weighed down with the sticky tar of despair when they realised they'd never see their babies smile, laugh, or cry. Never get to see the wonders of a toothless grin, the smile that could burn away the tar, the smile that is incapable of being false. The single-syllable laughs can show you the sun's rays that come as nature's easel moving in brilliant arcs inside their hearts. Instead, they were met with six bodiless ghosts that terrorized them.