24 views
papa
It was the final year in junior high, a deciding match for the next hall of famers. There I was substituted in at the 80th minute with the ball obviously under my spell at the 89th minute of a 90 minute match, dribbling again and again, I was on fire. The deciding goal lies within my grasp. Boldness and courage off the roof, "I will make it to the Hall's corner, nothing can stop me", I thought.
Till I got into the lion's den, no defender but the goal keeper "Mark Tank", a one man army, no loop holes, he seem to have the goal post under his protection. All I did was blink once and I saw why the seniors always call him "Mark the tank of terror".
The closer I got, the more I felt life draining out of me, my breathing irregular, time seem to tick louder, my courage, boldness and hope began to fizzle and I began to sink into the possibility of letting my team down, my environ surrounded by prying eyes and disappointing gesture.
"I'm a failure", I thought. "Why have I decided to make things worse than they already are. The coach was right my strength is too small, the captain also wasn't lying I'm a light foot". All manner of regretful terrifying imagination came lurking around the corridors of my being, as my sight became wobbly.
Then like a whisper within an explosion, I heard
"You can do it!, you can do it!!, Don't give up yet, you can do it son!!!".
In an instant, I saw my legs move without my consent, my foot stroke the ball faster than my brain cell could process.
My space time stopped and all I remember saying was, "That's Papa's voice, that's Papa's voice, that's Papa's voice" as the ball flew through space wrapped in fire and I displaced in air for lack of balance descended downwards then snap! I was blank.
Goalll!!!! (The referee blow the final whistle).
Flowing back into reality I saw a blurry man figure scouted by my side with is hand on my head
"You did well, Son". He said with a straight face
To father's all over,
Thanks you for the tough love and trust you have in us.
Long live fathers
#fiction
© philo_sophia
Till I got into the lion's den, no defender but the goal keeper "Mark Tank", a one man army, no loop holes, he seem to have the goal post under his protection. All I did was blink once and I saw why the seniors always call him "Mark the tank of terror".
The closer I got, the more I felt life draining out of me, my breathing irregular, time seem to tick louder, my courage, boldness and hope began to fizzle and I began to sink into the possibility of letting my team down, my environ surrounded by prying eyes and disappointing gesture.
"I'm a failure", I thought. "Why have I decided to make things worse than they already are. The coach was right my strength is too small, the captain also wasn't lying I'm a light foot". All manner of regretful terrifying imagination came lurking around the corridors of my being, as my sight became wobbly.
Then like a whisper within an explosion, I heard
"You can do it!, you can do it!!, Don't give up yet, you can do it son!!!".
In an instant, I saw my legs move without my consent, my foot stroke the ball faster than my brain cell could process.
My space time stopped and all I remember saying was, "That's Papa's voice, that's Papa's voice, that's Papa's voice" as the ball flew through space wrapped in fire and I displaced in air for lack of balance descended downwards then snap! I was blank.
Goalll!!!! (The referee blow the final whistle).
Flowing back into reality I saw a blurry man figure scouted by my side with is hand on my head
"You did well, Son". He said with a straight face
To father's all over,
Thanks you for the tough love and trust you have in us.
Long live fathers
#fiction
© philo_sophia
