Five hundred and seventy-six words of perfection as far as I'm concerned. I wrote this after my school won Homecoming. One of my friend's was injured and I could see it in his eyes. This was the result. Review please.

The Itch

The itch. She can see the burning desire running through him, coursing through his veins. She can see it in the way his heart pounds as they make a touchdown, the way he screams and runs over to number seven, ramming him in the chest, all thoughts about his leg forgotten. His face is a canvas of joy and excitement as his hands shake with happiness. He’s just so freaking happy.

But she can also see the pain, the agony, the annoyance. He wants to run, he wants to block and catch and beat people up. He wants to feel the satisfying thud of players that hit the ground all because of him. He wants to be the one they congratulate for that touchdown, or the catch, or the kick. He wants the recognition; he wants to hold power in his hand. Touch it, taste it. He needs it.

When halftime comes and they’re all in the locker room getting a ‘pep talk’, getting screamed at. He wishes for a second that he is the one getting screamed at, being threatened to be thrown off the team, because at least that would mean he gets to be playing.

And when he comes back out she makes sure to stand off the side, just to congratulate him and let him know how much she admires him, how proud she is of him, for doing so well, for holding his head high and being there for his team when she knows how hard it is for him. She can see it in his eyes.

At one point during the game she can see him bending down to fix his brace. The monstrous black straps digging into his jeans where it’s settled over the denim fabric; it’s keeping him from playing. He languidly stretches out his leg a few times before, with a sigh she can see from fifty yards away, all the way up in the stands; he adjusts it, making it tighter against his leg. The power is gone; all because of the stupid brace, the restraints even tighter than before.

For a moment, a fleeting moment he could taste it again, feel the weight of the boys below him as he tackled them. He could taste the bitter earth in his mouth, the smell and sour taste of sweat as it poured down his face. His muscles ached from running and tackling and everything else he had to do that night, but he’d do it all over again for the chance to play. A chance to feel the power within his grasp once more. And it all comes back to the brace, the black, hindrance that is being forced upon him. He wants to play, he needs to play! He lives for this game, and yet, all he can do is stand around and watch.

Pasting a smile to his face and pretending he’s happy for his team members that are doing what he should be out there doing. And maybe part of him really is happy, because at least they’re winning Homecoming, and next year he will be out on that field, tearing it up with the rest of them just like he knows he will. And maybe, just maybe that’s enough to make the joy, happiness, the screams and over-zealous congratulations real. Because come next year, it will be him that holds that power, and this will have just been a memory.

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As soon as I get to that point in Tainted Perfection, this will be added to it, just a head's up. I'm currently on hiatus for that story until I can get Weekend At Towzer Lake finished. I'm not sure if I'm going to be posting it though, due to some people at my school finding out about it and thinking it was about them(I'm trying to avoid legal action). Wow, wonder what they would say if they read TP... lol READ AND REVIEW PLEASE!