Chapter Text
All the things before fell away as he was punctured. As he felt himself drop, reeling with pain, he hit the ground and ceased to move. He had two punctures now, though a smaller one from the ground. Screaming was not an option. Flailing was not an option. He had no voice and he was still.
Enough of the air had left him for it to be searing, agonizing. Aside from play, the air was his life. And without the air, he couldn’t live or play, making him as good as dead. He already had a short time. Why did it have to be shorter?
He wasn’t even alone. The apathy hurt even more, all the people passing by. The faces foreign to him, sometimes looking, sometimes not. “Why don’t see me?” he thought, “Why don’t you save me?”
The reality was that even if the people wanted to help, they might not be equipped. He would need steady hands and a needle to live again. Perhaps even complete reconstruction. Worser still, it was questionable whether or not he was worth the trouble. Those he thought would fight for him had left him on the blacktop. Those who actually would were not around.
He thought about his family. His mother, his father, his sister. All four of them very alike in appearance. They had been together for a while. And then they weren’t. It was simply a way of the world and he was content with it. Sure, he missed them, but he didn’t have time to think about it until that moment. It was easier not to think and just roll with punches. Ironic considering how he simply fell when punched.
He saw two people, no older than 20, probably younger. One was tall with straight, blond hair at a bob length and blue eyes. The other had even shorter, brown curly locks and dark brown eyes. He pleaded they would do something internally. The blond one stopped for a moment.
“Look over there,” she said, pointing at him.
“Oh,” the other said, pausing for a a moment, “…Well that’s unfortunate.”
The two laughed as one mentioned something about a “basketball ER” and various other ridiculous things, walking away. How dare they mock his pain! What would a “basketball ER” even have? A bunch of air pumps, leather, and glue? Basketball doctors and square beds and IVs that poured polish on patients? The basketball would have laughed if it wasn’t for his predicament. Luckily (if you could even call it that), the pain was so constant that he couldn’t feel it anymore. Nonetheless, he was so sick of being stuck in limbo. He would be better off if basketball ERs did exist.
I feel kind of sorry for that basketball my friend and I left now.