Word Count: 117 words / 25-30 lines

One battle, two sides
A six-army strong batallion
The yell for a toss, your battle cry
One victor.

A grueling
match point.

A desired
game set.

Your rhythm, disrupted
Their walls, impenetrable
Your resolve, weakened
Their victory, guaranteed

Arms pressed firmly against sides
Legs refusing to leap
A proud avian,
grounded.

An exchange between comrades
Defeat predicted in your eyes
It’s not over, it’s not over,
They tell you –
But you’ve stopped trying.

If there was ever a time to cry
If there was ever a time to regret
It would be when the ball
Touches the ground

The resonating thud
Mimics the beating of your heart
Flat-lining
As the ball rolls to a stop.

Game over.

x-o-x-o-x