* "Run Clarke run!!"
"Go Clarke! gooooo!!!"
The crowd of parents cheers as I dribble the ball up the field. I look around to see my dad with his clipboard and a whistle around his neck. He is cheering for me.
I look to the crowd of parents to the seat I left for my mom. A green and blue fold up chair-her favorite colors- and a juice box along with another for me. We always used to drink juice together on the porch in the backyard. Under the huge tree, which gave us shade during the scorching summers. The seat is empty. The juice box untouched.
I keep dribbling up the field weaving around the defenders. Then there I am, in open field, but all I could think about was where my mom is.
Not paying attention to current events, I trip and fall over my own feet. Slamming wrist into the ground, all I could hear is a crunching noise.
I wake up in searing pain at the emergency room. I am seated in a gown on top of a hospital bed with brace around my arm. I look around for my parents and I spot my dad with my sister in his arms, through the glass window. He was hysterically crying while speaking to a couple of police officers. That's when I knew. Him crying that hard. My mom not showing up to my game. My family surrounding him.
My mom is dead. *
