Chapter Two: Failure
~Just a little note on this chapter, near the end something happens to Michael that some people will think's kinda gross. I did when I wrote it. So if you get queasy easily, you might want to avoid reading. But if you like angst, then go right ahead!~
Michael stood on his side of the dish, staring his opponent down as Jazzman began the countdown. He got into his traditional pitcher's stance, waiting for the words "Let 'Er Riiiip!" before bringing his arm back, aiming carefully then firing it forwards, the ball going exactly where he wanted it. A sharp pain suddenly ran from his shoulder, all the way down his arm, and he couldn't help but gasp as he fell to one knee, clutching his hurt shoulder.
"Michael! Stay focused on the match or you'll lose!" Judy called from the sidelines, not noticing the pain etched on the teen's chisled face.
Emily and Johnny did though, as they stood up from the bench, ready to run forward if Michael need them too. He waved them off with his right hand though, as he got to his feet, still clutching his shoulder. He wasn't sure what was wrong with it, but he knew that he wasn't about to back out of the match now. Just a couple more launches, and he'd be done for the next couple of weeks until practices started back up.
His blade spun through the dish, chasing its opponent but wobbling at each sudden turn, as if it could feel its master's pain. Michael noticed this, and raised his gloved hand in the air before calling out Trygle. The large energy eagle lifted from it's blade and attacked the opposing blade with its sharp talons, knocking it out of the ring and to the fellow blader's feet.
Trygle let out a shrill cry, before disappearing back into its blade then shooting up into Michael's glove. The jock clutched his blade tightly for a moment, before heading back to the bench and looking straight into Emily and Johnny's worried eyes.
"I'm fine," he said automatically, before either blader had a chance to open their mouth. "I just moved it the wrong way, that's all. It's feeling way better now."
"Are you sure?" Emily prodded, as she stuck her face in his, watching for any signs of unsurity. "I saw the look on your face, Michael. I think it would be best if you just sit this one~"
"NO!" Michael interrupted, his blue eyes blazing angrily. "This is -my- battle and I'm not about to quit now. Just leave me alone already!"
Emily's eyes softened and she took a step away from him, before looking over her shoulder at Johnny. The Majestic wasn't sure what to do either, so he just shrugged. He couldn't tell Michael what to do. It was his decision so it was his to make. Hopefully he would know what he was doing.
Michael stared at them for a moment longer, before turning and heading back to the dish, ignoring Director Judy's call telling him to pay attention this time. He wasn't about to fail, not when the team's victory was on the line.
Once again he listened to Jazzman's countdown, waiting for the familiar call of "Let 'Er Rip!" before getting ready for his pitch. This time though, he pulled his arm back quickly, and was just pulling it forward when he heard a loud 'POP!' sound and his arm snapped back. The baseball fell from his grip, and rolled along the floor and into the dish with a dull 'clunk'.
Pain seared through Michael's left arm, and all around his shoulder area, much worse then before and the American couldn't hold back his scream this time as he fell onto his knees. The stadium fell silent, not exactly sure what had happened except for there was no match going on, and the All-Star was in some obvious pain.
The rest of the All-Star team ran forward to assist their captain, falling down to their knees around him but he couldn't lift his head to look at them. He could feel the tears threatening to spill from them, the pain being worse then anything he had ever experienced before. And to top it all off, he couldn't even get his blade into the dish. He had failed both his team, and himself.
TO BE CONTINUED...
~Just a little note on this chapter, near the end something happens to Michael that some people will think's kinda gross. I did when I wrote it. So if you get queasy easily, you might want to avoid reading. But if you like angst, then go right ahead!~
Michael stood on his side of the dish, staring his opponent down as Jazzman began the countdown. He got into his traditional pitcher's stance, waiting for the words "Let 'Er Riiiip!" before bringing his arm back, aiming carefully then firing it forwards, the ball going exactly where he wanted it. A sharp pain suddenly ran from his shoulder, all the way down his arm, and he couldn't help but gasp as he fell to one knee, clutching his hurt shoulder.
"Michael! Stay focused on the match or you'll lose!" Judy called from the sidelines, not noticing the pain etched on the teen's chisled face.
Emily and Johnny did though, as they stood up from the bench, ready to run forward if Michael need them too. He waved them off with his right hand though, as he got to his feet, still clutching his shoulder. He wasn't sure what was wrong with it, but he knew that he wasn't about to back out of the match now. Just a couple more launches, and he'd be done for the next couple of weeks until practices started back up.
His blade spun through the dish, chasing its opponent but wobbling at each sudden turn, as if it could feel its master's pain. Michael noticed this, and raised his gloved hand in the air before calling out Trygle. The large energy eagle lifted from it's blade and attacked the opposing blade with its sharp talons, knocking it out of the ring and to the fellow blader's feet.
Trygle let out a shrill cry, before disappearing back into its blade then shooting up into Michael's glove. The jock clutched his blade tightly for a moment, before heading back to the bench and looking straight into Emily and Johnny's worried eyes.
"I'm fine," he said automatically, before either blader had a chance to open their mouth. "I just moved it the wrong way, that's all. It's feeling way better now."
"Are you sure?" Emily prodded, as she stuck her face in his, watching for any signs of unsurity. "I saw the look on your face, Michael. I think it would be best if you just sit this one~"
"NO!" Michael interrupted, his blue eyes blazing angrily. "This is -my- battle and I'm not about to quit now. Just leave me alone already!"
Emily's eyes softened and she took a step away from him, before looking over her shoulder at Johnny. The Majestic wasn't sure what to do either, so he just shrugged. He couldn't tell Michael what to do. It was his decision so it was his to make. Hopefully he would know what he was doing.
Michael stared at them for a moment longer, before turning and heading back to the dish, ignoring Director Judy's call telling him to pay attention this time. He wasn't about to fail, not when the team's victory was on the line.
Once again he listened to Jazzman's countdown, waiting for the familiar call of "Let 'Er Rip!" before getting ready for his pitch. This time though, he pulled his arm back quickly, and was just pulling it forward when he heard a loud 'POP!' sound and his arm snapped back. The baseball fell from his grip, and rolled along the floor and into the dish with a dull 'clunk'.
Pain seared through Michael's left arm, and all around his shoulder area, much worse then before and the American couldn't hold back his scream this time as he fell onto his knees. The stadium fell silent, not exactly sure what had happened except for there was no match going on, and the All-Star was in some obvious pain.
The rest of the All-Star team ran forward to assist their captain, falling down to their knees around him but he couldn't lift his head to look at them. He could feel the tears threatening to spill from them, the pain being worse then anything he had ever experienced before. And to top it all off, he couldn't even get his blade into the dish. He had failed both his team, and himself.
TO BE CONTINUED...