THE DREAMER
Light floods his blurred vision. As the scene clears, he's making his way down a smoky tunnel. The constant chatter of "click-clack" accompanies his footsteps. He adjusts the Under Armour armband tattooed with his favorite Biblical verse. The lights, only dimmed by the tinted visor shielding him like a Gladiator before taking to the arena. The fans. The roars of the hoards chanting his name. He's on the big stage, and the stage is set.
This is the moment he's been waiting for, his shot at endless fame, at GLORY. How he got here doesn't matter. He's in the moment...HIS moment. His name bellows over the loud-speaker, as he trots onto the field. He finds himself immersed in everything he's ever wanted. He can't exactly remember how he got here, but he's not troubled. "I'm here now. That's all that matters. I've been here countless times."
He came to put on a show, and he hasn't disappointed. The crowd springs to their feet with every dazzling play he makes. He's putting on a clinic picking this defense apart. Tight windows, crazy blitzes, line stunts...He can't be phased. No matter what the opposing team throws at him, he answers without indecision & hurls passes as if from a cannon. After every throw, defenders launch themselves into his body, but he takes body shots better than Rocky. Like a cat chased by a turtle, he can't be caught. He blows by defenders leaving a flash. A dip & a dash, big play after big play, the crowd to a grows to a frenzy.
Time falls into slow motion, the climax is near. His heart thunders with every beat. His breath collects into a crystallized plume in the chilled air, as he buckles his chin strap. It has all come down to this. There is no panic. He was born for this. This moment feels eerily familiar. He takes his drop, the pocket collapses. Arms aimlessly grasping & fingers tugging, but he escapes. Blow after blow, he fights forward with an Herculean type power, dragging opponents along the way. Only one defender stands between him & everlasting glory. He leaps. Extending the football toward the pylon, stretching for every inch....The last second slips from the clock, the buzzer sounds.....(WHACK).....
BEEP....BEEP....BEEP....BEEP....Light floods his dingy, one-room apartment. He can still see his breath. Mother Winter must have gotten the best of his space heater. The only roar resounds from his replica helmet alarm clock. He pulls back the covers as he stretches for the snooze button. He admires the poster of his favorite athlete hoisting the championship trophy. It could have been him. He had dreamed of that moment since he was old enough to walk. Things just never went his way. He always caught the bad break. Bad luck followed him step for step. If only he had been as fortunate as his idol, it would have been different. His dream would have become a reality, not a frequently visited vacation when darkness fell. As he folds his legs over the side of the bed, he slides his feet into his tattered slippers. There will be no click-clack this morning. As he wanders to the coffee pot the Dreamer mutters: "Man...I always wake up just before the best part..."
TO BE CONTINUED....
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