Sidetracked Philosophy
I always see you with her, clichéd as it sounds, like a puppy. But that's what you are, isn't it? With all its clichéd trappings, that's what you seem to be, a damn redheaded puppy eager to please your master, and she has become your master, in the game and in everything else. I shoot the ball for her, I block the shot for her, I learn all these damned hard moves for her.
But I'm afraid she's in love with me. And I'm afraid I'm in love with you.
It was supposed to be one night of training, but it would be great if at the end of it all, no one would die. But there they were, doing the routine of strangle, kick, strangle, kick, kick, strangle and then head but. If it wasn't for their tall, lean bodies, people'd suspect them of being unattended children, now they just think of them as slightly loony teenagers.
But aren't all teenagers slightly loony to begin with?
They weren't even talking, but one snicker at a missed shot, one outstretched leg made for tripping, then they're at it again. Non-verbally communicating with fists, legs, elbows and even foreheads.
He tried to demonstrate again, holding the orange ball in his hand and heading straight for the basket, stopping, faking, then doing a fade away jumper. His red headed adversary looked on, concentrated at how it was done, thinking to himself that this would be easy...but then again, it was not.
The redhead tried to do it, once, twice, a dozen times, and to the cat-eyed player, it felt like a gazillion mistakes. Finally, the redhead was looking much too intently on the basket and with the fluid motions of his hands, legs, feet and torso, his attempt to make the shot seemed more possible...but still missed.
Because working hard doesn't all equal efforts to success, we miss a few times too.
So he collapsed on the ground, and all he could see was the yellowish moon up above and the bare sprinkling of stars in the smog dusted city. Then he saw a water cooler held by an outstretched pale hand he took it and gave a nod of thanks, to no one in particular, but the cat eyed player knew it was for him.
A/N: Written in the span of two hours, the background music of the daredevil soundtrack overloading my sense of hearing. I'm not saying forgive the errors, just see the effort. I haven't been in the writing scene for such a long time; I'm just hoping this little ditty isn't a fluke. Review if you like.