“1, 2, 3 GO LIGHTNING!” our soccer team shouted.
My teammates headed out to position themselves on the emerald green field, while I and a couple other girls took a seat on the bench. Like a chess match, the game progressed slowly and always ended up at the opponent’s feet.

I sank a bit lower in my seat, but was interrupted when my coach announced,
“Meher you’re going in.”

Twenty endless minutes went by, and my heart sank lower knowing there wasn’t much time left. In a State Cup Game you only get one chance to prove yourself. The ball rarely ended up on our side of the field, so me, as a forward, had not much to do.

The interminable last five minutes of the soccer match seemed hopeless. My weary muscles whined for a rest but my brain was determined, and was not leaving without a sense of pride. Competition is my life. The devil floating above me hissed, “It’s over, It’s over.”

A droplet of prespiration trickled down my forehead. Hatred seeped through the soccer field, and the smirks of the opposing team condescendingly traveled through each player on the team. The ball was a magnet attached to their soccer cleats, as it gracefully hovered at the enemies’ feet. The vicious player raised her leg and positioned her hips and scooped the ball in the air all in one second. Whisking through the air, the ball was a flying saucer heading towardsd our goalie. In sync, the audience’s pistachio, licorice, amber, sapphire, and steel eyes all darted towards the ball. Without panicking, our goalie managed to grasp the ball after fumbling it a couple times. Our coach let out a dramatic sigh, but moments later his head jerked straight at me. Suddenly, I realized the ball was sailing through the air straight towards me. Like a red-tail hawk, I was gliding in the air until gravity smacked me in the face. A massive collision occurred as the ball painfully smashed against my forehead and zipped down the field. Shocked by the impact, my head throbbed, but my legs took control and were already racing down the field. My body transformed into a cheetah and my legs melodically fell into a sprint. As I darted across the field to receive a cross from my teammate the wind whistled in my ears. Like someone had pressed the mute button, the crowd fell silent and our coach intently watched and his eyes refused to blink. The breeze sent its armies towards my eyes, and my vision blurred out as long as I could see the ball and the goal, I was fine. Kaitlin, my worn out and wounded soldier in battle, could take it no more. She forcefully released the ball and it went zooming across the goal. A typical goalie, brightly colored jersey, and a fearful expression across her face, dove for the ball. This was the worst move she could make, because the ball trickled out of her fingers. As if I were a robot, the hinges in my ankles felt as if they were coming loose. I couldn’t give up now, my whole team was depending on me. So, I mustered up my last drop of energy, and darted past the defenders and towards the ball with “37”, my soccer number, written all over it. The last thing I saw was the ball fly into the back of the net. And I froze for two seconds, until I realized it was me who had just banged the ball into the net.