TBPA summer edition gold medalist 2016.
Alistair Flynn is a walking anxiety attack/accident waiting to happen.
Ridden by nightmares and peer pressure of being the jock of the block, his life takes a confusing turn when a hazel-eyed boy invites him...
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The azure blanket above my head wraps around the dome keeping us grounded on earth. Puffs of silver clouds osculate the dome of azure, closing in on the earth beneath my weight.
I touch the silky blades of grass, thickly packing the earth beneath my like a blanket of fine strings. I stare in front of me at the football goalpost in front of me. I'm supposed to practice kicking, but today is just too beautiful to spend it drenched in sweat. I soak up the sun, lazily stretching my arms behind me.
I'm not going anywhere soon.
"Alistair!"
The voice carries pure frustration and fear. In the depth of the voice, I could hear hurt, deep sorrow shattering the voice into glass shards.
I scan around for the birth of the voice, but I couldn't see one person close to me.
"Alistair?!"
I push my weight up to my feet, but my legs won't budge. I tumble forward, my body spreading over the emerald bed of grass. I try to push myself into a push up set, but my arms numb into jelly.
I groan as my face plants in between the grass blades, shoving into my mouth like a meal. My limbs won't budge.
I can't move.
I have no reason why I can't move. I'm perfectly healthy, I exercise every single day. I wasn't in a accident, other than that time Prue thought she's condescending, which gave me a knock off her dirt bike. My blood spread across the driveway and I got my entire hip stitched back from teething through my skin, but I didn't get off with any nerve damage.
I rock my torso like a boat at sea until my back slams into the moist earth and the blue dome is over my view again.
I heave a sigh, shutting my eyes.
"Alistair! Please!" The petite voice begs. "Please! Please come help me!"
The sharp yelp of pain in the carnation voice shatters my heart.
"Alistair! Please help, please!"
"Stay where you are, Charlie," I yell, bracing myself to try and get up. I throw my weight up to the sky so I could rest it on my gluteus, but not even my hamstring want to contract for movement.
I groan in frustration, hearing Charlie sob in a distance. I need to help her. I need to help with whatever reason she's crying. She has no reason to cry. Hearing her cry is like pinning a flaming razor to my arteries and telling me that I have no reason to die. That not even the canyon of red is a reason for death. It's my obligation as her brother to rip off all testicles of her hurt [my boyfriend-removal services are state of the art] or make sure her heart doesn't break, be it her own growing child, a friend, parents, boyfriend...
