Whisper Me Your Screams

❦1

꧁ₚₐᵣₜ ₒₙₑ꧂

ʰᵒᵖᵉ ᵗʰᵉ ᵖᵉᵒᵖˡᵉ ʷʰᵒ ᵈᶦᵈ
ʸᵒᵘ ʷʳᵒⁿᵍ ʰᵃᵛᵉ ᵗʳᵒᵘᵇˡᵉ
ˢˡᵉᵉᵖᶦⁿᵍ ᵃᵗ ⁿᶦᵍʰᵗ
ONE OF NINE

My dad was going through the applications for after-school programs, but he dismissed anything he considered artsy or "girly." Only football (American), soccer, and baseball remained on the list. While I enjoyed watching sports, playing them was a different story altogether.

"Which one are you thinking about?" my dad asked.

I contemplated for a moment and mustered a smile. "I was thinking about joining the soccer club," I replied. Deep down, I just wanted to be part of the poem club. However, I knew that enduring at least one season of any sport would satisfy my dad and get him off my case. Unfortunately, he insisted on overseeing the applications himself to ensure they were "done right."

During my younger years, I reluctantly played soccer. It wasn't because I particularly liked it; in fact, I used to hide before the games, and my mom had to bribe me with ice cream just to get me to participate. My dad always emphasized the importance of sports, regardless of the specific one.

"Good, good. No more playing with barbies or dressing up with your sisters. You're a boy, and it's time you started acting like one," my dad remarked as he walked into the kitchen where my mom was cooking. I tried to brush off his hurtful words, although I used to love playing with my sisters when I was younger. It had been years since I engaged in those activities, but my dad still enjoyed reminding me how "weird" it was.

I absentmindedly touched my short brown hair, reminiscing about the flower crowns I used to wear with my friends. At home, I never dared to wear them, especially with my dad's disapproval. I have two sisters, Blue and Julie. Blue, who is only nine, sports shoulder-length brunette hair, while Julie, who is ten, has hair that cascades down to the middle of her back. We live in a small three-bedroom apartment on the north side of town. One room is dedicated to my sisters, another to my parents, and then there's mine.

Feeling overwhelmed by my family, I decided to retreat back to my room. With a dramatic sigh, I collapsed onto my bed, trying to convince myself that maybe joining a sports team wouldn't be so bad.

...

Don't get me wrong some of them are totally hot, but not so much when they're cover in dirt mixed with their own sweat. I watched the soccer team from the bleachers with Michael. Michael and I have been friends for almost our whole lives. He's got green hair (as of the moment) a lip piercing and a nice body build. Not fat but not too skinny either.

"I'm thinking red." Michael said thoughtfully. He dyes his hair every other week. Once he dyed it light pink and neon green, he looked like he had one of the little ponies tails glued to his head.

"Keep bleaching your hair and it's gonna fall out, then I won't love you anymore."

He pouted, "You have something against bald people?"

I laughed at him shaking my head.

"Whatever you're just jealous." He said flipping his hair.

"Oh yeah, for sure man." I said sarcastically nodding my head. We started talking about meeting up for the weekend when someone intrudes.

"Hey Ryan"

"Hi Ally." I give her a shy wave.

"Michael." Ally acknowledges him. He makes a face of disapproval and looks away from her.

Last year Michael and Ally were in the same art class, he spilled purple paint on her new dress. He says it was an accident, in which he never apologized, but she swears it was on purpose. Ever since then they both hate each other. Its kind of funny because Michael had a crush on her in third grade.