[TRIP] the sender trips the receiver.
The blazing-hot sun fastened itself in clear-blue skies above, not a single cloud to be found. Heatwaves pummeled to the ground, offering no mercy to the poor students that were fated to participate in gym class that unfortunate sizzling afternoon. Zacaraya silently lurked in the shadows as he eyeballed the other students run repeatedly around the racetrack, as if stalking prey. "Which one is the most valuable..." he mumbled to himself as cognac-brown eyes darted to someone clearly belonging to Savanaclaw, who looked as if he weren't even trying to break a sweat. No. He wanted someone that had drive, fight. "Samble, get running!" Came the voice of their coach, to which Zacaraya haphazardly pushed himself off the brick wall to begin sauntering over towards his fellow suffering classmates. Stepping onto the track, he readied himself by leaning down into a crouched position with both hands placed firmly against the ground, front knee leaning over the starting line, and his back knee resting upon the ground; The Four-point sprint start position. He was about to lean forward to distribute the bulk of his body weight in preparation to start running until he heard someone approach him from behind, sounding as if they were literally dying from exhaustion. He tilted his head around to examine the source, only to realise that this person seemed to actually be trying. Who was he even competing against?? Hie eyes shot wide-open in a split-second decision, and he pushed his foot out into the stranger's lane, with the intention of tripping them, 'accidentally'.
He hated sports....He didn't mind spelldrive...that was just a magic fight with some running involved...that was competative and had meaning...running on the other hand...who had a need for running???? He felt like his lungs were trying to eject themselves from his mouth. He hated it....like sickness stuck in his throat hot and choking as he tried to gasp in breaths that never reached the burning lungs. He pounding at the lack of oxygen as his shirt stuck slick to his skin in a disgusting sheen of sweat that made him shudder as his heart pounded hard like it was going to explode. He hated this... He couldn't bitch anymore in his head though as the world spun as he suddenly ate dirt knocking what little wind he had. He lay there wheezing into the ground as he choked spitting up bile as his stomache tried to empty what little he had in it from the shock of the faceplant. He could hear people sniggering and he seethed. Suddenly turning on the person beside him he caught that little stuck out foot. "Bastard...." He snarled Slowly pushing himself up not caring for the dirt on his clothing and face. "You did that on purpose, you single braincelled jock!" He hissed puffing up similar to a pomerarian, all bark no bite as he glared at Zac people sniggering and goading the pair to start fighting for entertainment.