Lost Battles - inspired by Ernest Hemingway

Lost Battles

Blake had just gotten home from football practice, his forehead still glistening with sweat. He'd always loved the joy of exercising with his teammates, feeling the adrenalin exploding through his veins. He'd followed in his father's footsteps, becoming the star quarterback on his high school's team. His sister had followed in their mother's footsteps, dancing ballet ever since she was four years old. Although recently, after gaining some weight, she'd quit.

Kicking off his shoes in the empty hallway, Blake made his way towards the kitchen. The fridge was full of leftover foods. He decided to get rid of the molding bacon and crispy potatoes.  Selecting four slices of pizza, he devoured them as if he'd been stuck in a desert for years. Savoring the wonderful taste of the homemade pizza, he washed everything down with a bottle of Gatorade.

Turning off the lights in the kitchen, the entire house bathed in darkness. It was silent. Eerily silent. Blake stopped in his tracks, trying to catch any sound that could possibly be traveling through the house.

Nothing.

Smiling happily, he strolled towards the bathroom. Since there were only two bathrooms in their two-story house, Blake was forced to share one with his sister. The automatic lights illuminated the bathroom once he stepped in, leaving the door unlocked. He stripped his clothes off his bulging muscles and stepped into the shower. The scorching hot water forced its way down his back, easing all the tension in his body. Only two minutes in, the water on the base of the shower started making its way up his feet, reaching his ankles. He checked the drain. It was clogged by long, dark strands of hair.

Deciding to cut the shower short, he stepped out, onto the white bathroom tiles. The humid air fogged up the mirror. As he wrapped the white, fluffy towel around his hips, the phone started buzzing. He checked the caller ID. "Mom", he read. Picking up the small device, he brought it to his ear.

"Blake? Are you there?", her frantic voice called out.

"Yes, what's going on?".

"I need you to come down to the hospital immediately", with those words, she hung up.

Not caring about what to wear, Blake threw on some clothes, rushed out the door, and jumped into his car. He knew that it was dangerous to drive in the emotional state he was in, but he forced the thought to the back of his mind. With the ever-growing anxiety in his stomach, he stepped on the gas pedal, speeding down the highway. Once he got there, he slammed the door shut behind him, not bothering to lock the car.

The sterile smell hit him in the face, and the brightness urged him to squint his eyes. Looking around the room like a lunatic, his eyes caught the sight of his mother. Upon seeing her red eyes and pale skin, he dropped to his knees, suffocating in the shrinking room.