"Hey Steve, cross us the ball!"
I tore up the right side of the pitch, anticipating the cross. He was usually pretty accurate. I slowed and glanced behind me. He was just about to cross the ball. I moved a little further to the side, took possession of the ball, and began my run at the keeper. This one had been a pretty close game.
I fell one on one with the keeper, who was, in this case, Tommy. I pulled back my leg to take a swing at the ball and it connectedly cleanly, sending the ball flying perfectly into the top corner of the goal. Tommy dived, fingertips just connecting, but the ball still finding its home in the net. Just about to cheer and run off, I waited for Tommy to get up, so I could console him for a nearly good save.
But he didn't get up. Half in fear, I ran over to him, checking what had happened. He was lying flat on the ground, arms still outstretched, a blank look on his face. His mouth was hanging agape and his tongue was lolling lazily between his lips. However, the next thing my eyes settled on was the worst. The blood from a great wound to his skull.
I stared at him, frozen with fear. He couldn't get this badly injured; I mean this was pretty serious. The image of Steve's limp body flashed into my head again. The stillness of his face, the aura of death all around him, smothering and choking all of the life. Shaking my head, I returned to Tommy and the football pitch.
"Hey Steve, quick, we need to help Tommy."
"Shove off Darren; he's probably just messing about. Just go and give him a good kick and… God, that's serious. Go and get Mr Dalton."
Yeah, I thought. Mr Dalton would know what to do, as he always did. Mr Dalton was my favourite teacher by a mile. Whereas most teachers were always uptight and boring, he was cool and understanding. Plus he tried [not always succeeding, mind to make his lessons interesting. But where would he be now?
An hour or so later, me and Steve were sat in the back of an ambulance, Mrs Jones besides us and the school nurse next to her. Tommy was looking a little better now – they'd tidied away most of the blood – but he was still unconscious, totally dead to us all. I tried not to look at the body, focusing on some small writing on the wall. My eyesight wasn't spectacular, but I saw it well enough.
It read: "Could all in this ambulance take care not to disturb all of the equipment. Please remain seated at all times."
Just a normal safety notice, I supposed, getting a headache from the travelling. Glum, I took another look at Tommy, just to check for any improvement. Still, no signs of consciousness. The image of Steve began to burn again at the back of my eyes. My vision started to cloud over. I saw stood in a white room, presumably a hospital room.
"…all … negative…"
"…how many types…poison…?"
"…thousands…"
My head was throbbing painfully, each pulsation sending a brighter light into my mind. It grew more and more intense, blinding me, forcing my eyes to clamp shut. I could hear voices in my head, voices of people that I had never met, yet they all sounded so familiar and so real. It was like I had this entire collection of memories stashed away in my head, eager to be uncovered.
I stood in the room, staring at the bed. There lay the body that I feared to see. Steve. Lying limply on the bed, wires attached to him, machines whirring furiously away. I heard more voices, more distant, faint.
"…bad blood… savage…"
"…take that back…"
"I will not…make you…vam…"
"No…won't forgot…Vur Horston, I'll…kill you…one day!"
The voices were yelling, screaming at one another, but I could still make out one of them. It was Steve. But who was he talking to and why could I remember it? More conversation, more voices, more noise, it all just flooded into my head, beating at my mind like a drum, thumping at my temples.
"Darren, come on, we need to go, come on and get up!"
There was a sensation on my shoulder. I blinked my eyes, quickly at first, but slowing, realizing that I was still sat in the back of the ambulance.
"Urgh," I groaned, getting to me feet, only to sit back down again. Blood rushed to my head and my vision blurred. Fearing another vision, I got up blinding and moved in the direction I hoped the exit of the van was in. I took a few steps and felt the ground give way beneath me.
"Get up, you klutz," the voice hissed again. It was Steve's, I noted, as I brushed the gravel from my uniform. I could see again now, and it seemed as though I was in the right place. Steve was stood to my right, staring at me expectantly. I looked away from him, unable to hold his gaze. I could see him lying on the bed, dying, growing ever weaker, yet no-one knew what was wrong. But something was telling me that I knew.
"I'm coming," I whispered, unable to manage anything more. I followed Steve, who was following a nurse, into the hospital, where we sat by Tommy's bed. Only a few minutes in, he was looking considerably better. They'd shaved the left of his head, where the cut was, and applied some dressings, leaving him sat, propped up against some pillows.
His eyes fluttered open for a brief moment. He looked at me, almost curiously, and return to his sleep. I smiled and exhaled deeply, glad that he was coming round. Steve looked… well, less miserable than usual. He almost looked happy, but not quite. I doubted Steve would look terribly happy. He wasn't that kinda person.
Soon, we had to go. School time was over and the Nurse thought we should leave Tommy alone to 'convalesce' – I looked it up; it meant recover! – and we went home, Steve to his Mum and me to my family.
"Darren," Annie called. "Why did an ambulance come?"
I chuckled. She was always quite the curious one, was Annie. Then again, I wanted to tell her. It felt like having a secret that was just begging to be shared with someone. Annie was the best for telling things like that. She either forgot after you told her, or kept it a very well-kept secret, never telling anyone.
"Ew, so there was blood all over his face?"
I nodded grimly, indicating on my head the area of Tommy's that was covered in blood.
"Urgh, that's horrible," she squealed. "I hope he get's better."
"I'll tell him that," I said, before getting up and going into my room. I felt like reading something. I had a craving. I thought deeply about what I wanted – a zombie comic, a superhero comic or a Frankenstein comic. Nope, none of them made me feel any better. What else did I have? Of course – a vampire comic! That was just what I needed.
I rummaged through the pile and picked one out. I liked this one the best. I had loads of action and deaths in it. Plus, the vampire gets killed in the end by this young boy, who pretty much matches my physical description, so I like to think of him as me, saving the world from an evil monster.
When Mum calls me for dinner, I've pretty much forgotten about the rest of the day. I felt tonnes better and the smell of the fresh roast was making me starving. I washed my hands, careful not to knock the towel rack on the floor, and ran downstairs to get my seat at the table.
"So, how was your day, Darren?" Dad asked, tousling my hair.
"It was fine," I replied brightly, blushing slightly. He always did that Dad – tousle my hair – just to embarrass me. I always told him not to, but it just made him do it all the more. I looked over to Mum who was dishing the food out onto plates. It looked pretty fantastic. I tucked in, and the afternoon passed away in what felt like the blink of an eye.