ODE TO THE END: A BALLAD OF BROTHERS

CHAPTER 2

"Oh. Right. I'm sorry," Said Naomi. Alone in the field, she knew to leave them to it. 

. . .

The game commenced with the bang of the first batting. High the baseballs flew as screams from the winning team followed the ball over the fence. It looked like yet another home for the star of the game, a blond haired batter with eyes of hazel-gold and the physic of sculpted rendition. He dashed to first base, second base, then third. After a long stride, the blond batter could see the dust-stained square: Home. As he sped from one corner to the next, those in the outfield scrambled to stop the golden gallant. 

One girl vaulted over the fence of wired green and tossed the ball into the field with the snap of a pro. Another caught the projectile and threw it into the mittens of their teammate with similar skill. A chain reaction followed, sending the ball closer to the blonde batter that struck it. By the time the running man had reached the third plate, he was well within range of what needed to be one more flawless toss. All it would take now was a well-aimed hurl of the ball, and the race to homerun would be dashed at the climax.

The winning team filled the dugout with cheers for their chosen athlete. He was so close now, but so was the ball. The outfield team sent the sphere flying, and, like the bullet of a gun, it was aimed at the unfortunate target. He was a single stride away, but the speeding ball remained a blur behind him. The golden boy skid to his target, causing a plume of red to rise, and the ball whiffed into the obscurity. Everyone bit their tongues as they waited for the veil to clear, then , when the hot wind shifted,  the results were revealed. The ball rolled out from the opposite end of the field after smashing against the fence. As for the blonde batter, he stood on home base with a single fist in the air. He made it, and for the third time today no less.

The dugout became a mosh pit of victory cheers! Boy's howled, girls screamed, and they all raved with revelry. Taunts were fired and warnings given that victory was inevitable. The losing team collectively tsked their teeth. Desperate actions had to be taken now, if not for the win then as vengeance for the disrespect shown by the opposing team. To concoct their comeback they retreated to the privacy of the outfield. 

The losing team had to acknowledge the blonde batter. He was a true athlete. They all witnessed the lean tendons in his arm ripple as his bat was swung, and it hit its mark the first time every time. They could tolerate his skill, even admire it, if the blonde batter was not allowed to bat in place of everyone on the opposing team. The only excuse given was some nonsense about letting the prodigious player practice for when he goes pro. That is what they said, but the losing team had been soaking in their own sweat long enough to know that the members of the opposing team did not want to leave the shade of the dugouts. The tall blonde gladly went to bat too, round after round, just so he could show off. Now he had three clean shots beneath his cap, and he was none the worse for wear. The team in the outfield could not boast the same, so, with raked teeth and a roll of their eyes, the call went out.

"Caitlyn! We need you to pitch the ball," said the losing team captain.

Naomi looked up from the furthest end of the outfield, a spot she had been instructed to 'guard' should the ball fly that way. Boos blasted from the winning team. They rejected her outright, but Naomi looked to her teammates for final approval. When she saw them, many seemed even less enthused than the opposing team. Surely, she heard wrong.

"Naomi Saint Caitlyn! Get out here and come pitch," said the losing team captain. 

"Time out," called the winning team captain. The captain of the winning team crawled out of the dugout, patted at the heat that suddenly peppered his cool skin, and ran into the field. The team leads were soon toe-to-toe. "We agreed not to use her! Follow the damn rules."