⚾ The chirping of birds rang through the sky in the midst of dawn, alarms alerted the participants of the early rush hour, and melodious vocals greeted him in the morning. A voice so soothing yet so mysterious in itself made it worth getting up; it provided justification for waking up before even the sun could reign high above the earth. It could’ve been only a few days, a week, or even a month that the songs had been playing, but he didn’t know. All that was fact was his liking or admiration for the unidentifiable voice. It became such a frequent audible that he expected to hear it every morning. He purposely left his window open when he slept just for it to reach him at a higher volume. What he knew for sure was that it came from right next door. Who was the owner of that voice?·
He had no time to solve the mystery for he had his own priorities to take care of. The male didn’t just wake up so early for no reason. Across the apartment he resided was where the work took place. The diamond, he called it. Baseball was Lucas’ passion. What was once an activity of leisure became an occupation. His job was to swing a bat and to catch a ball, tasks that he grew accustomed to at a young age. Life couldn’t get any better than that, in his eyes. Life was fortunate, good for him·– all the strenuous times of adversity had led up to this, but that didn’t mean it was time to quit. Not one bit. He trained like life depended on it, as if he hadn’t made any progress from when he was a child. While I’m sleeping, someone else could be up practicing. That was his own way of thinking and reasoning, his motivation for doing what he did. Was it logical? Not really, but it made sense to him and that was all that mattered. He continuously swung the bat until his repetitions were in the thousands, until every inch of movement of his body were all ingrained into muscle memory. He pitched the baseball until his arm ached and sprinted the bases until his legs gave out. Only then would he take a break, but it was short lived. Those who saw him would consider him a mad man, but that was the thing; no one else was crazy enough to be awake at such a time to be a witness. At least to his knowledge.·
Once life came to fruition through the commotions made on the streets, Lucas let the metal be heard. The sound that was produced from the contact of the ball and bat was as harmonious as that voice of interest. He swung, the clinging sound echoed, and the ball flew into the heavens and descended back to earth after seconds of flight. He kept going until his arms felt as though they had popped out of its sockets or the neighbors came to inform him of a shattered window (which had never happened, so far).·
Only one ball left and it was going to be off to the races in his journey to retrieve the others that laid hidden. He tossed it up with his right, clutched his bat with his left and right in a split moment, and hit the ball against the grain. It was a poor swing, the velocity wasn’t there. He watched the ball travel deep into the skies and land right against a female’s head. Shit. This was either a happening of great coincidence or the results of his nonexistent luck. It was a combination of both, more or less, but that still didn’t erase what just transpired. Lucas forced his aching legs to run to the girl with great concern. He knew what it felt like to get hit with a baseball– which made getting hit with a basketball or soccer ball equivalent to a pinch of the arm, but never had he gotten struck on the head. He didn’t know what to expect. A giant lump right in the middle of her forehead had already grew. It wasn’t pretty, but at least she wasn’t unconscious, or dead.·
“Oh man, I’m so sorry! Are you okay? I didn’t mean to hit you!” He knelt down beside her (who was now down on the ground giving shrieks of pain) and offered a hand to help the stranger up.·
gummygunk
theartofmadeline
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stormborns
