TW
arrive into the seemingly quiet house, slipping off my shoes and racing up the stairs- I'm sure they're not here, but I'm not risking anything. My stomach rumbles, since I played football at lunch and not having any lunch money- I hadn't had anything since breakfast but I'm nit prepared to go down to the kitchen. I left this morning after my uncle knocked a glass onto the floor, blaming it completely on me.I head upstairs and get changed into a pair of shorts, and a long sleeve sport top, pulling my brand new trainers- that the girls all bought me for my birthday- and lacing them up tightly. I run back downstairs as quietly as I can, picking up my football and heading out of the door.
The autumn sunset painted the sky in soft hues, providing a spot of beauty amongst the run down council estate I walk down, relishing the bite of the cold, brisk air as I feel the chill on my skin with every step.
Arriving at the basketball courts in the small park beside the estate, I see a few boys around my age, and a few younger. I walk up to them, doing keepie-uppies as I go.
"A'ight flo?" Tom, one of the boys at my school, who I regularly play with asks, as he lifts his head and acknowledges my presence.
"Mhm" I hum as I continue my game. "All alright?" I look around the group, recognising most of the faces, whom I'd grown up with; and played football with. A sea of nods, smiles and mhms arise.
"Let's get into it then, 5-a- side sound good?" Harry asks, we all nod as I settle the ball beneath my feet.
Illuminated by the small floodlight on the court, and the few street lamps in the estate around, we play for a couple of hours, laughing, smiling and having fun. Nothing matters when I have a ball at my feet and I'm playing football- no matter who it's with, or where it is.
As I made my way back to the house in the pitch black, the cool air wrapped around me, the stillness of the night evoking both eeriness and comfort.
"Where the fuck have you been?" A voice hurtles towards me as soon as I step through the door. Wow, What a lovely greeting I receive as soon as I get back.
"Sorry- I had to go back to school to do some extra homework practice" I keep my head down as I walk into the living room. My aunt is strewn across the sofa, practically unconscious with a cigarette in hand, and my uncle slouches on the armchair, a beer bottle in one hand and a cigarette in the other- staring me down.
"You think I'm a fucking kid?" He spits at me, my aunt starts to stir; I shake my head and keep my head down. "Then why the fuck are you lying to me? You're holding a football, I'm not stupid you fucking bitch!" He raises his voice and hurtles the remote at me, hitting me hard in the stomach.
"I swear, my friend borrowed my football the other day and gave it back to me today" I plead my case, and he just rolls his eyes, half focusing on the football match on the screen.
"Pathetic lies, you bitch" he shouts, and smashes his bottle on to the table, pulling him self up from the chair. I dodge the beer seeping, and the now broken glass chard's littered over the table and carpet.
"I swear, I'm not lying! please I'm sorry" my voice breaks as I plead with his raising fist. It doesn't work. His fist makes contact with my eye and cheek, as my head snaps to the side as the pain seers through my whole face. I bring my hands to my face and clutch it, as my knees drop to the floor, a groan escapes from my mouth, before I even felt the next blow, his foot pummelling towards my stomach- a jarring force knocking me down onto the floor. A sharp pain envelopes my foot as I feel the glass piercing my skin. My breath hitches as the pain explodes throughout my stomach and ribs. Strike after strike against my flesh occurs, and my vision starts to blur.
I can faintly pick out the voices of my aunt and uncle, one last force jammed into my stomach, before I hear footsteps receding and eventually the door slamming. I lay there lifeless and limp, unable to push my self up, or even open my eyes; my head falls to the side and eventually I lose my consciousness.
Silence. I feel as if I had been hit by a brick wall. Every part of my body aching. Sticky. I feel sticky, blood oozing down my face and from my leg too. Beer. I smell beer, the carpet still wet from the incident.
With every muscle in my body, I heave myself up, a loud groan escaping from my body as I fight every natural instinct I lay back down and rest. The house is empty, silent and still. I try to bend my neck to look at the clock, as I feel a sharp sting in my head. Sighing, I hold my head in my hands as I try to piece together what had happened.
Ah. I was the punch bag. I remember now.
Feeling around in my pocket for my phone, I pull out the smashed up phone, and tap it to see the time, 4:30 am.
Lifting myself up, as my body lights up in agony, a small scream of extreme discomfort leaves my mouth. I slap my hand to my mouth, in case they are upstairs.
I presume not. Probably ended up in a crackhouse.
I look down at my body. My right leg decorated with a few cuts from the glass I had fallen onto, still bleeding lightly. One of them looks slightly deep, and another I can see a glint of glass still amongst it.
I peel my top up to reveal my stomach and ribs. They were a striking canvas of colours, already forming a deep, inky purple at the centre, radiating outwards like a dark sunset. Shades of blue swirled in and out, and sickly yellow hanging around like an ugly halo. The sharp pain tormenting and ripping through me as I drag myself upstairs.
Staggering into my room, I rip my clothes off tenderly and pick the towel up off my chair. I walk up to the mirror, the image of myself staring back, a broken, pale little girl evokes a physically sick feeling. I stumble on the bathroom as I retch and throw up into the toilet.
Washing my hands and taking a sip of water, I look at my face in the mirror. Another distressing bruise blossoming around my eye and cheekbone, it's beautiful swirls providing a spout of colour against my ghostly and clammy skin. A cut, nearly dried up sits above my eyebrow, stretching from the middle of my forehead to the edge of my hairline nearest my temple.
I grimace at the sight of myself.
I pull myself away. I can't look at myself.
This hasn't been the worst I've ever had, nor the best.
Th hot water pelts onto my skin, as a stinging sensation rings throughout. Weirdly enough- I feel nothing.
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YOU ARE READING
Footsteps on the Field || a woso story
Ficción General"I've worked so hard to get here, but now I just feel like I'm letting everyone down." In a small and normal town, where dreams are non existent, and go unnoticed, young Florence discovered her passion and love for football as a toddler- and since...