Flash Fiction for Aspiring Writers

 Late but who cares:)

photo-20160807074033992This photo prompt is provided by Yinglan.

The Soccer Ball

Sammy had  never played soccer before, but he was anxious to give it a try. The way his folks were, he’d sit inside a plastic bubble for the rest of his life, protected from the hate and unhappiness and general muckiness of the world. If he had his way, he’d be out rolling in the dirty (which carried disease), climbing the highest trees (from which he might fall and break his neck), riding his Uncle’s horses (from which he might also fall and, at least, break a leg and which also carried disease.)

On the field, the boys stopped, looked. He looked back. A long detente between the status that was and the status which wanted to be. Finally one of the boys held up the soccer ball.

“Wanna play?” he asked, light brown hair falling into his eyes. “We could use another.”

 

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