TBPA summer edition gold medalist 2016.
Alistair Flynn is a walking anxiety attack/accident waiting to happen.
Ridden by nightmares and peer pressure of being the jock of the block, his life takes a confusing turn when a hazel-eyed boy invites him...
The cliff edges soon, my weight being forced over the edge.
Wake up.
I fight back, unable to find myself to gather up the strength to fight back. My limbs are static, steering his overbearing bodyweight closer to mine to push me over the banister.
Wake up.
I look back, heaving one last fighting breath. "Please, don't do this," I beg, gripping my eyes into the black portals clasping onto the little bit of hope still reverberating somewhere in the back of my mind. She retorts with a malevolent smirk, batting her lashes at me as if she's trying to sedate me.
She doesn't care.
She doesn't care if I die. Her eyes glint of baneful hatred, shunning off all the hope I clung onto for life.
That's what she is.
Malevolent.
She is evil and I will not praise her, no matter how much she begs. She's here for a reason and one reason only. She wants to kill me.
Wake up.
"Don't try to fight me, Ally-boy," she grins, pumping the power of her arm into my torso. My weight shifts off my feet to dance across the line over the edge, but I give a step forward.
I push her back to give me space to move.
"I will fight you. I will not let you win."
"You will not win," she absconds, gripping my collar. I anchor my grip into her wrists, pushing my weight forward. I twist on my hips, grunting to fight my fight. She hollers, whines and screeches to lead my attention elsewhere, but all it does is make me resist.
I lean my weight back, throwing her off balance. A flock of black hair washes over my face as she falls into me. I knock my knees into her abdomen, balancing her parallel to me.
One last gaze in her beryl eyes pursue me to force her bodyweight over my head.
I am sempiternally done with being haunted by Jacqueline.
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I've never played a single football match without my father.
There's a gap in the bleachers, no matter how many people pitch up to watch this game, there's always a gap. It's just his presence that got me fueled to give only the best my hands could possibly give. He encouraged me to be better, because football is the only thing I was good at.
It's still the only thing I exceed in, because playing football doesn't make you fail your classes. Playing football doesn't leave your dad in the hospital, half paralyzed and in a coma. Playing football doesn't touch you inappropriately or keep you up at night.
