Chapter 2: Prologue: Part One

Let me ask you a question.

 

Do you ever feel as if there's a god—a very spiteful god, who, for some reason, always ruins your life? 

Let me elaborate; there are people in this world who suffer, there are people who live paycheck-to-paycheck, there are children who wonder if there will be food on the table for dinner and there are people who genuinely live a hard life—a miserable life.

I am not one of those people. I neither have to fight for every bite of food nor worry that I'll be sleeping on the street because I can't pay my rent. For anyone who looks at my life from the outside, it may seem like I'm living a great life. I go to a good school, I get good grades, I eat nice food, and for all literal purposes, my life is 'good'. 

However, the deeper one looks, the worse my life seems. 

Nonetheless, there's only a single person who knows how truly awful my life is,

and that person is me.

—well, maybe and you.

 

*

 

It was around 5:45 am.

I was awoken by the blaring sound of my alarm.

Just a little longer.

I reach across my bed, feeling all around the bedside table, covering my hand with dust and other residues on it. Eventually, my hand reaches the phone, vibrating erratically and I tap my finger all over, eventually hitting the snooze button.

The phone alarm begins blaring again.

Really, already?

This time I grab my phone and open it, flooding my eyes with a wave of burning light.

6:00 am.

I drag myself out of bed and walk over to the clothes that I had pulled out the night before. It had almost been a month since I last wore my long comforting green soccer socks. I put on my clothes, strapping the shin guards to my leg.

Third year's the charm...

I felt an immense feeling of despair as soon as I remember what had happened the prior year. I slowly began feeling literally sick, I felt like throwing up and my stomach tensed so hard I thought that there might've been a bird flying around inside.

I leaned against the wall as I supported myself from falling over.

I packed my bags for school that day and began making my way toward the living room. I made sure to knock on my father's door, signalling that it was time to drive me.

I pondered anxiously as I sat in the car.

No matter how hard I tried, I couldn't keep myself from shaking. It was like I was suffering from hypothermia. The closer we got to school, the more my symptoms grew.

Ah. I'm going to throw up.

I cover my mouth with all my strength. My breathing and heart rate were also rapidly rising. I could feel the suctioning on my hand as I frantically breathed in and out.

Why do I keep doing this to myself?

I tried taking in deep breaths. 1... 2... 3...

At this rate, I'm going to have a panic attack before I even get there.

I rip my hair down towards my face. The pensive pain was enough to clear my mind for a brief second.

Why did this always happen to me? I didn't get selected last year, it wasn't like I played at my full potential and just wasn't good enough. First of all, I played a lot worse than I have ever played in my entire life, second of all, despite my training for many different exercises, the coach seemed to have made weird variations which I did not expect.

But most of all, it was like the coach had given up on our entire year level. Almost all of the players were from one, two or even three year levels below us.

Investing for the future, are we now?

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I looked out at the soccer field. My stomach tensed and sweat dribbled down my face.

My sister was playing in the highest girl leagues in the entire state and I couldn't even get into a worthless school team.

I got out of the car and began walking towards the seats beside the oval. I could feel my sports bag grazing against my knee as I made my way over. It was still barely dawn, there seemed to be a large black shadow cast over the entire field with a little circle of yellow light, not strong enough yet to penetrate the darkness.

 

No one else had arrived yet.

 

Of course, it was nearly thirty minutes before the designated time.

 

Why was I putting myself through this? Did someone say something inspirational to me when I was younger? Was someone telling me to not give up, telling me that I can do anything if I put my mind to it?

Of course not. I was the only person who was still pushing myself.

I am by all measures,

completely and utterly

alone.

 

The cold bitter wind blew against my legs. The chill was enough to make me get goosebumps. I made my way to a bench on the side of the oval. I put down my bag and rummaged through the various items I put inside. I pulled out my boots which I had placed in the bag. I probably could've just worn them from the get-go, removing the need for sneakers, but my craving for professionalism didn't allow it.

As I changed my shoes, I looked over at the road. There was a scarce stream of cars, probably for early morning work or something. I didn't care to think too much.

I sat alone on the cold dew-covered bench. It was a sad sight to behold, but one I was much too familiar with. I put in some earphones and hope that the music would somehow drown out all my sorrows and despair.

Eventually, almost twenty minutes later, someone else arrived. They were from the year level above so I didn't really talk to them. I awkwardly looked over at them as they type something on their phone. "Hey, are you here for the tryouts?" I asked.

"Yeah." It wasn't an enthusiastic response but it was enough to somewhat confirm that I was at the right place at the right time.

Slowly but surely, more and more people arrived. Many of them I could observe were already basically part of the squad. Several of them had been in the team for several years in a row, practically guaranteeing themselves a spot like some self-fulfilling cycle.

People huddled up in groups and chatted amongst themselves as they put on their gear. I also had a little group of my own. They weren't my closest friends but they were closer to me than they were to the other students.

Before long, the coaches also arrived, carrying big sacks of soccer balls and other training equipment. "Alright everyone, come over here so we can tick your names off." It was a relatively orderly roll call, there was the occasional awkward comedy skit pulled off by very unfunny upperclassmen but overall it went through relatively smoothly.

We all made our way onto the pitch and stretched our legs, preparing for the session.

It was not until nearly the end of the tryouts before I confirmed it. The world was against me. Nothing would ever go my way.

It was honestly impressive, how such misfortune could fall upon one person.

 

At the end of the day, not a single coach even asked for my name.

 

Oh well.

 

It was probably karma or something.

I wish I could run away from this world.

Ah, there's nothing I wish for more than for someone, maybe some god to be looking down at me. I want someone to see, someone to see my suffering, someone to see my pain, surely I'm not all alone.

 

Is anyone there?

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