This is a collection of short stories, featuring crystals, crows, soccer fields, bloody skies, and more. Most stories will be based off prompts from writing contests across Wattpad, and some may be based off the splinters of my soul and the waltzing...
Maxine watched as her coach paced across the field, inhaling nothing but sweat and the cold bite of the wind. Her teammates – the girls of Sylvester High – stood beside her, shoulder to shoulder, their hairs sticking out like spring weeds and their skin flushed dark with bruises.
They were supposed to be undefeatable. They were supposed to win the premierships.
And yet, on their first game of the soccer season, they had been mauled apart by their opponents; had their dignities torn to shreds. Even their jerseys – their dark uniforms that had once been an honour to wear – was nothing but weight on their backs.
Maxine could still remember the fire in her coach's eyes as the referee had called out the score. The bitterness in his voice. The snarl on his lips.
4 - 0.
Now, with one loss already branded onto their names, it was time for one of the girls to go. That was the rule: for every loss, one of the players would be replaced.
And each of them had to earn their place.
"This is how it works," Coach Philip said, placing a ball on the grass between two markers. The grass itself, burning gold and orange from the sunset, seemed to move in tufts and waves as the man paced back and forth and back and forth. "Joanna and Rosa. Stand behind the markers."
The two girls folded their arms, moving sluggishly, their eyes a desperate plea for help.
"The rules are simple," Philip said. "I say now, and one of you ends up with the ball."
They nodded cautiously. Even Maxine could feel her blood turn cold as their gazes traced the short distance towards the ball, as they calculated each step of their boots-
"Now!"
There was a mad rush and a sickening thud when the two bodies collided. In one second, Maxine couldn't see anything but a whirlwind of hair and dust, and in the next, she saw Rosa sprawled on the grass and Joanna grinning at the ball beneath her boot.
The rest of the evening went like that. Maxine lost her first match against Nadine, but was quick on her feet and managed to snatch the ball from Courtney. Against Cheryl – their very own captain – she had managed to get her foot on the ball first, only to have it wrenched away from her when Cheryl accidentally kicked her straight on the shin.
By the time Coach Philip had brought them together again, Maxine had won one, lost six, and cut her lip after colliding heads with Joanna.
"It's the most basic rule of soccer, Maxine," Philip snapped. "Win the ball for your team. If you can't do that, you're useless."
He made her stand behind the marker, face to face with Rosa.
"Now!"
They both dove for the ball, their feet tangling, Rosa's shoulder ramming into Maxine's, the ball lost in the scrambling of their feet. Somehow, as Maxine tried to pry herself away, Rosa had managed to slip her foot closer to the ball, and kicked it towards herself.
Useless.
"See what I mean?" Philip demanded. "You can't hesitate. Again. Now!"
Maxine went at Rosa again, this time trying to bump her away with a rough nudge of the shoulder. Rosa fell to her knee, stumbling slightly, but she recovered quickly and was lunging at the ball again before Maxine could even mutter a quick apology.
And, yet again, despite it all, Rosa still ended up with the ball.
"This is a game of milliseconds," Philip told them. "You hesitate for a moment, then the other girl will beat you. And you'll be nothing but dead weight to your team. Back behind the markers. You're going again."
Maxine felt herself burning with a rage she barely recognised. All her teammates were there, standing around and watching as she kept losing and losing to a girl who was half a head shorter than her.
And this time, when Philip called out, all Maxine could see was the ball in the grass.
Useless. Useless. Useless.
"Now!"
Maxine went at it with the might of a storm, slamming into Rosa, her heart hollow.
No one – not Rosa, not Joanna, and not even bloody Cheryl – would rip it free from her.
This was her place on the team.
And she was here to keep it.
She bucked Rosa off with a snarl, and as she stood there, panting and ferocious, she knelt and clutched the ball so tight that it was like she was holding her own soul.
"Finally," Philip said, smiling.
But Maxine stared at Rosa, at the fear in the smaller girl's eyes.
Another loss. Another cut.
And, with the moon glinting silver in the sky, Maxine dropped the ball and ran off the field.
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Word Count: 799
Prompt: Write a short scene that takes place on a soccer field. The rest is up to you.
This short story is for The Writer's War, by Platonic_Soulmates - I am in Team Opal.
This is based on my experience when I was part of a soccer team. Sports can really get the best and worst out of you, can't it?
