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Story listed as: Fiction For Teens | Theme: Survival / Success | Subject: Pain / Problems / Adversity | Published here : 10/10/2017
By McKenzie Dahlke
Born 2000, F, from Athens Alabama, United States
I watch my feet walk across the rigid faded pavement as if they're in some form of slow motion.
The only light is streaming crooked angels of white from the stadium beside me.
The loud sound of cleats scraping on grass and shoulder pads clanking melodiously overwhelm my sense of hearing.
Half time.
I kick the small grey rock in front of me watching it fade into my feminine shadow, my purse swaying from side to side full of wrappers and loose change.
Just another Friday night.

All of the players pile into the metal screeching doors, whooping and yelling from their twenty-four point lead. While all I can think about is you in the crowd, are you screaming?
Twenty more steps and Iím free, my car the sanctuary that takes me away.
I feel my small hand search for the keys, my hair swaying in every way of my vision.
Just a few more steps.
I can barely stay past half time anymore, hearing your name yelled from the screen sends me away.
Watching you run across the parade of grass, I know you do not recognize me, nor do you even notice.
The tears well in my eyes big enough to break the dams of my pride.
Only five more feet.

I see the light angels fade from view, no more shadows and shapes.
But now I feel it, a rugged large hand gripping around my waist, another hand quickly partnering around my mouth. Walking alone to my car behind the field house.
My keys clank on the pavement, all other sound drowns out slowly. What is that smell? A cigarette?
The breathing is heavy and masculine, I feel his face a foot above mine, watching me, dictating me.
Iím frozen.
Slowly words of lust and drunkenness creep from his lips, pouring from his tongue like a sour remedy of scotch and sin.
His mouth closes in around my ear, whispering with a hot voice, intruding on every form of my privacy.

Now my brain begins to work, and then my arms. I struggle. I strain. I fight. But he is too strong. I see his feet below me and stomp with all my might, yet still his fortress does not move.
I feel his arms pick me up inches from the sullen ground I now so long for, carrying me to a place I am unwilling to go. His disgustful hands move around, providing action to back up his disgraceful words.
I hear the back door jangle a swift and easy sound, but itís a sound, itís a hope.
His hands begin to crush the delicate skin of my mouth, forcing my silence.
I pry my mouth open with all of the strength I have, clenching my teeth around his dark and callused hand, grinding them with a hope of hitting bone, until finally I release his hand to scream, to cry for help. I feel a trickle of blood on my cheek as I yell, one hand in agony, but the other still firm around me, dragging me.
I hear it. I hear the door.
I watch as the small grey tinted metal slings open, and itís you, you walk out, you heard the scream. I yell your name, I feel my lungs plead for you, my heart crawling its way to you, but you stand there, wide eyed, watching.

Now two other figures arise from the door, they too are dressed in grass stained uniforms. I scream again, begging for help. The two figures run towards me, my breathing now outrunning my mind.
And then two more arrive at the door frame, looking at me, understanding, and they too come. You finally follow.
I feel the sweat and damp cloth graze my skin as they pry the brute off of me.
Do you hate me that much?
I sit on the ground, crawling closer to the door as I hear fists on skin behind me. My knees beginning to scrape away on the pavement, my hands giving way of strength. I feel arms around me but I flinch with shock, pushing the arms away.
I look up to see a uniformed figure, but itís not you. He tells me heís here for me, he tells me itís alright, he asks me what I need. So I fall into his embrace, I let his arms caress my body, I let my head fall into his broad shoulder as I see you and the others finish beating the drunken man.
You look at me with a sorrow, maybe a regret, but I coil into the one holding me.

Finally the coaches file out, as well as a dozen more uniformed figures.
Give her room they say.
I watch a few feet away as the light angel streaks return on the pavement from the stadium, the coaches calling an ambulance and policemen over for the man trembling on the ground.
I feel the blood, I feel the sweat. And I watch you feel the same.
I cried for you, I said your name, I needed your help.
But you hesitated.
You hesitatedÖ
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