Can anyone hear us?

1

I heard chuckles from the dugout as I approached the home plate. I knew what my team was thinking: your gonna get 3 strikes faster than you can say 'out'. But I knew they were wrong.

I took a deep breath as the pitcher, my own teammate, raised his left leg. He threw the fastball right into the middle of the strike zone.

I slightly raised my left leg, raised the bat, put my leg down in front of me, and twisted my body forward. I had hit a ground ball. I instantly began to sprint to first base.

The ball bounced past the pitcher, past a teammate on second dodging for the ball, and into the outfielders glove. I had barely made it to second base.

"Anyone could have hit that." My teammates chanted once baseball practice was over.

"Yeah. You're just as bad as a little league player." Another person added.

I played for professional baseball on a team called The Atlanta Mighty Falcons. Fans of our team usually just said their initials, AMF. As you could already tell, my teammates weren't nice to me, even though I was better than anyone else. They teased me and bullied. The worst part was that they were young guy adults.

What made them this way was our coach. He spent millions of dollars on uniforms and baseball bats that made the team spoiled and selfish. They only cared about winning and theirselves.

The year was 1954 and my name was Aron. I lived in a relatively small household with only my parents. My parents definitely weren't nice to me. They always pushed me so hard and yelled at me if I made mistakes.

I know it's weird living with your parents when you're a young adult, but funding for me in professional baseball was out of the question. I had no money.

My coach didn't pay me much because he thought that I was a waste of his time. However every game we played was mostly won by me getting the points. Tomorrow we had another game to play. And I'm ready for another win.

I opened the creaky door to my house and quietly shut it, hoping not to let my parents know I was home. I tried to tip toe to my room, my duffel bag slung around my shoulder.

"Your home!" My dad shouted behind me. I turned around.

"Hi dad." I replied.

"You forget to buy more food for yourself?" He asked.

"No, I thought mom made dinner." I tried choosing my words carefully.

"Yeah, she did. Ya missed it. We ate without you." He said coldly.

"Well, did you save me some?"

"No. Go buy food."

"I don't have any money. The team only pays me little money."

"Well that's the only thing you get money from." He argued.

"Maybe it's time to get another team. I am the best pla-" he cut me off.

"No! You are not leaving that team! It's all ya got! Have fun starving tonight, ass." He yelled.

"I will get another team! And I will with or without you!" I shouted back.

He ignored me.

"See you later, dad." I mumbled to myself and went out the front door with my duffel. My parents screamed my name, wanting me to come back. I couldn't go back to that place no matter how hard I tried. However, I had nowhere to go. So I knew I had to come back to that house eventually. But I had enough. They didn't love me. They didn't care I was their son.