ADORATION
A (very) short story by Dean Lidster
Hey peeps! Sixth form and A-Levels are keeping us both ridiculously busy (not necessarily in an academic way, but that's a different story!) and hence not a vast amount has been done on the old writing side.
BTW, my new contact e-mail address is Deanie16@hotmail.com - the guy who was very kindly voluntarily hosting my site had to take it down as his boss decided he wanted to charge him for the priviledge. Easy come... :-)
Just the sight of Lee playing rugby the other day drove me to scribble this down: Life just keeps getting better...
--Dean
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The sun struggles to break its way through the turbulent clouds, the odd beam making contact with the earth sending a stripe of brilliance across the fields and hillsides.
I pull on my coat and walk down the shale covered lane to the games fields, my hair being blown all over the place by the wind. It is October and the last few leaves on the trees are beginning to loose their grasp on the bows that bore them for the past few months, being carried away in an urgent spiral until they land on the ground, so completing their duty.
As I approach the fields, I hear feint shouts from the Rugby game that is being played, again the wind making the direction of the sound difficult to pinpoint. I climb over the rickety wooden fence into the games field and see thirty lads engrossed in the game they are playing.
Getting nearer, my eye picks out one of them in particular. He's fairly tall - at least six foot I'd say - with a mop of dirty blonde hair which is now matted with sweat. He gets thrown the ball and, in one fluid motion, he jumps for it and turns, allowing him to escape up the left wing of the pitch. I watch as his muscular legs propel him towards the touch line, the opposing team failing miserably to impede his progress. He senses one of them getting closer and so makes a dive towards the line, arms outstretched.
He lands heavily, mud splashing out from either side of his maroon rugby top, but it has served it's purpose. The referee blows his whistle, acknowledging the five points he has scored for his team followed by three longer blasts.
His team has won by two points thanks to the try he has just scored.
In keeping with public school etiquette, he shakes hands with the other team, but can not keep the smile from his face as he does so, his team mates patting him on the back and smiling just as broadly as he is.
He suddenly looks over in my direction, flashing that broad smile at me, making me feel warm and fuzzy inside. He makes some half-valid excuses to his team-mates and starts jogging in my direction. He slows down as he approaches me, dragging his fingers through his now mud-caked hair.
I comment on how good his game was and he agrees with a shy smile. I wet a finger and wipe a splash of mud away from his left eye.
Without saying another word we begin to walk, hand in hand, back up football lane.
I am the luckiest guy alive.
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Comments, requests, ideas etc. to Deanie16@hotmail.com. Flames will be courteously laughed at :-P TTFN...