Our Foundations from Decay

Frank POV 28

Jesus, what's wrong with these people? My injured leg remained useless beside me as the muddy ground slid up my trainers and seeped into my socks. Ugh, it feels like world war 2 here. The football came whizzing by my head, its padding colliding with a thump into the netting behind me.

"Oi Frank! Get a grip, we're on the last round!" The jock-stereotype incarnate yelled at me from across the field, his spiked boots kicking up miserable grass. I groaned at him, letting myself slump on the side of the goal. My team members all got into position again, the ear-piercing whistle blowing through the groggy air as the match started.

As I continued to sit down on the ground, my legs stuck out in front of me like a chicken with rigour mortis, I heard a buzz from my all-too-short gym shorts.

"Frank, get off yer phone! Focus on the damn game, you imbecile!" This time it was the beefy coach yelling at me, the obnoxious whistle around his neck casting an uncomfortable glare into my eyes. I waved him off, pulling out my phone.

My Chemical BROMANCE!!

Gee🖤: Yo Mikey, Ray, get over here we have to sign up

Micheal Way: Yep, comin' soon.

Gee🖤: Where's Ray?

Micheal Way: I dunno, last I saw he was trying to flirt with some chick next class over.

Gee🖤: Poor girl.

Micheal Way: Yeah, I think she ran away in tears.

Ray🐟: HES LYING! I never did that!

Micheal Way: I never lie. That's sinful.

Gee🖤: I believe Mikey

Ray🐟: Gerard! Don't betray me!

Ray🐟: Frank, my man, where are you to defend me?

I chuckled to myself, hands flying over the screen as another football whizzed by me.

You: Ray, you do realise that you have a reputation for this kind of thing, right?

The opposing team shouted in celebration as the coach called the end of the game, ushering everyone back to the locker room. I stumbled up, my dirtied crutches dug into the soft grass, leaving snail-like trails as I hopped behind the group of students. My focus remained on staying upright, even as a snarky voice sliced through the atmosphere.

"Goddammit, do ya think that your injury's an excuse to let the team down?" The tall figure of Mr Jock pointed an accusatory finger at me, his other hand spinning around the stupid ball like some kind of clown show.

"Did you separate from your pack just to lecture me?" I nodded towards the group of people ahead, jealous of their working limbs. "You can go back to them, I've heard it all already."

Jock-boy sent me an almost noteworthy glare, letting the ball stop spinning. "This..." He began, "Is YOU." He squeezed the ball with both hands, going as far as to throw it on the ground and bring his iron-clad feet down on the poor thing. My brows furrowed as I watched the jock, his vindictive pursuit finally ending when he gave it a final stomp, the circular outline clearly imprinted on the malleable dirt. What is this guy on about?

"G-get it?" He began explaining, seeing my baffled expression, "Cus you're the football, and I'm like... crushing you." I stared at him for a second before turning my head away from the ridiculous teen, letting out an exasperated sigh.