Faded, long russet locks cascaded down her frail porcelain shoulders in assorted disarray, slender arms draped limply over equally slender legs, tucked visibly towards her slow-heaving chest in a make-shift fetal pose. Hushed sobs escaped dry rosebud lips at minute intervals. The teenager rocked silently in her otherwise still seat. Prying her heavy head from watered knee-caps, the female ran a trembling hand carelessly through streaks of fiery ginger hair, pushing the lot of it out of her wet face to reveal a pale countenance, blotched red from excessive tears and exhausted frustration. She breathed in a shaky breath of oxygen. The air seemed foul, as was her mood.
Figuring enough was enough, she sought needful distraction out the blinds-covered window beside her perch. She pushed aside the wooden slats a tad to glimpse an endless pool of darkness littered with blurry splats of multicolor and her own ghost-like apparition staring back through the glass. The distraction proved useless and she soon found her thoughts straying to the very incident that had driven an indiscriminate wedge in her future-her parents' separation.
Devastated by the earlier knowledge, the teenager choked back another sob. Minutes ticked on, courtesy of the analog clock by her bedside as she resumed the effort to quell the onslaught of overwhelming negative emotions.
Not that she hadn't seen it coming, the red-head decided; the more than occasional disagreements had over the course of a few short years evolved into heated arguments, accompanied by first a lack and then entire nonexistence of family togetherness. She'd played mediator for a long time but her own limited control over the tireless situation had expired ages past. For her parents never relented to resolve their issues with one another and had eventually pitted their angers against her. She blamed many things over time, many ill-fortunes. But what was the use now.
"Over," the quivering whisper left her dry lips. It was over.
[1 year later]
"Nice shot!"
A comradely clap on the back and his senior teammate hustled back over to his mark so as to not forestall the remainder of the game. Though a practice match, the season was young and given this was their very first of the year the Odaiba Knights were looking to win-and win they would, if he was any judge. The athletic teen jogged back over to his own position.
Having gained entrance into Hikarigaoka High upon the hearty assistance of a basketball scholarship, he was the latest addition to the team and through sheer determination backed up by immense potential and a positive presence of skill-or talent, some would fancy, he had been awarded with a regular position as of the start of the competitive season. The highlight of his early high school days thus far.
Wiping the sweat off his brow, the male teen focused the prime of his attention on the game ball as it was tossed into the air. In a manner of seconds his team's point guard had gained control of the game yet again, dancing expert dribbles around their rival team's defence like cakewalk. Their opponents this time were hardly the challenge.
Faking a turn, the teen made a swift dodge of his two opposition markers, calling the ball with his aquamarine eyes. It made its way to him in the form of a vivid pass from a teammate. Feeling the path laid out open before him, the honey blond-haired individual made no waste of his opportunity, dashing towards the rival team's hoop at top speed. He aimed for a direct approach but so it would seem the opposition's center had rushed in to stop him before he could so much as chance any closer to his goal. No matter, that was where the taller male's error lay.
Smirking deviously, the blond managed yet another fake, this time in the form of a jump shot. His marker fell for it with ease only to stare at him in shocked disbelief as the blond basketball prodigy leaped off the court floor a mere appropriate instance after his opponent's maximum block height had been reached. He aimed his shot, let the ball fly and could have sworn he'd heard the victorious sound of leather slipping through string netting all but loud and clear. The game had been won, as was soon determined by the sound of the stop-clock whistle less than twenty seconds later.
This is just the beginning.