I threw the ball. It slid through the air smooth and undisturbed. It tapped the ground with a thud and bounced low to the earth. It landed metres away from me. I walked over and picked it up. I threw it again, slightly harder than before, and I felt my throat begin to burn. As I picked the ball up again, I felt a sting of anger run through my body, and I flung it into the air with tremendous force. I had not realised that it had grown foggy, or that my face was wet from my tears. The tennis ball dissolved in the sea of mist.
I cupped my hands beside my mouth and called out to my best friend. "Destin!" I cried. "Buddy, come here!"
Then I remembered I was hoping for the impossible. He would not come back. He was hit, shot by the madman. Now thanks to him, I'm alone. He had his reasons though...
Destin was infected.
