This is it. We’re winning, but the game isn’t over yet.

Ian bolts down the hot, sticky turf field on a smoldering day where the sun was nearly at its hottest. You could see mirages of puddles on the turf and my skin felt like I was in a pizza oven. The tall, athletic and fast Marquis has the frisbee and I am frantically guarding Ian with my arms flying everywhere.

The sun beats down on my skin and face while beads of sweat roll down my neck. I am guessing that it looks like a crazy monkey.

I hear Ian shouting, “Here, Marquis, throw me the frisbee.”

“Oh no,” I mutter to myself. “If Marquis throws it now, I won’t be able to block it.”

My feet squish into the turf like it is a muddy swamp and I can clearly smell an awful stench. I look up to see what it is and I find a garbage truck driving on the field.

“That can’t be right…no one deserves to smell something like that when it’s not trash day,” I exclaim.

I quickly snap back into the game. Andrew is guarding Marquis and the shot clock is almost at ten. Marquis has a cold and determined look on his face. He is just barely able to launch the frisbee in Ian’s general direction before his time is up. I accelerate and everything goes into slow motion. The Frisbee approaches at a tedious pace. Ian leaps up into the air like a lemur who just had too much coffee and nabs the frisbee with one hand, just out of my reach and literally centimeters away. My body was as stretched as I could make it. I feel like if I stretched any farther, my muscles would have popped like a balloon.

“No,” I say, as my feet make contact with the hot, sticky turf and I see that I don’t have the frisbee. I look up and see it safely in Ian’s hands. The score is now 2-1. Though I am disappointed, I am happy that my team scored twice before, so we still win.

This game was fun for both teams. Even though the other team lost, I think they still had fun, so we all march off the field with a smile on our faces.

AUTHOR
Adam F.
6th Grade

Simmons Camp
Polished Piece

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