Struck Out

The ball flung through the air, swinging and spinning vigorously like the roll of white collecting decadent cotton candy through the machine, in which children so thoroughly enjoy. But this wasn't the carnival. This was baseball. The eyes dazzled of my peers as they gazed at the leather wrapped object, piercing the sky, and to some, they even imagined it caught fire. I had to admit, it was a great shot. The kind of swing we all envied.


The cage had several holes, as it was weaved, though the young ones liked to stick their stubby, pink fingers through it. Maintaining its special qualities wasn’t too difficult. The booth wear the players sat smelled of dust covered water bottles and sunflower seeds. It was odoriferous and obvious to us all. 
Again, adding to the special qualities. As he slipped his batting gloves on and twisted his knuckles, the spring in his step was portrayed well, as he marched slenderly forward. The glint in his eye caught my attention; I figured much determination was present.  He tipped his cap downward, and continued having a staring contest with the sun. He whispered to it. Sounded like fighting words to me. The devilish smile never left his smug face. 


Switching batters now, he was up. He strode on, towards that beautiful diamond in which so many feet have trampled upon. And everyone leaned to the front of their seats in the stands due to their anticipation. Anxiety hung in the air as much as the sand did, the sun again glaring down at the players, set in position on the field. He lifted his bat as high as his spirits, and all eyes on the pitcher. 


Crack!  The ball flew again. It seemed everyone was hitting except me. In fact, I haven’t gotten a hit all year. My swings never registered, they never went through. It seemed like everyone was way better than me. Oh wait, that’s because everyone IS way better than me. Go figure. I was gaudy, and definitely with a stature below my age group. I was disfigured, and uncoordinated. Scrawny and a little dull. I preferred to think, rather than do. I’m not a “do” guy. I don’t really don’t recall why I joined the team. I don’t even like sports. Maybe I was feeling nostalgic, maybe I was missing something, or maybe I just wanted something to prove. Whatever it was, I didn’t have much time to think about it. While I was dozing off, and the other players, including my brother, were spitting their seeds, I didn’t actualize I was next in line to bat. 

They scooted me out to the home diamond and I looked at my feeble hands, gripping the bat handle with might. It seemed instantaneous, but The pitcher took a deep breath, and swung at me. I swear the ball glared at me, as it was on it's way to hit me, so I freaked. I leaped, and squealed, scrambling to my feet and was horrified to justify I was outside the chalk lines we called the batter's box. I stepped back in, nervous as hell. 


The rest of the night seemed to slip from me. It was the first strike, second pitch, and third time I slapped myself awake. This is surreal. I didn't have time to collect my thoughts before the second pitch was complete, and I found myself out of the box again, I kept jumping. By now, you know somebody would say something, certainly the coach would. He grabbed me by the air and whispered ferociously in my ear; explaining to me that if I did not make this hit, that I would have to run ten laps around the whole field. Not just the diamond, but the field.  


And the punishment seemed reasonable. Bottom of the ninth, bases loaded, last pitch of the game, and I was the batter. I mean, I was the WORST on the team. There was no sugar-coating it. I haven't hit all year, or even caught a ball. I hated my reason for joining: I missed it. How can you miss something you were so horrible at? It didn't make any sense to me. Third pitch, and I couldn't believe it. I was out of the box again. But I struggled so hard, why is this happening? What did I do to deserve this? I haven't a clue as to what. 


I blinked, and our team was exchanging "good game" pats on the back with theirs. And after that I took off running, around the field, that is.Ten laps. Ten reasons I shouldn't have started this. I lost the championship game. For all of us.

FedEx Truck-- Test Vlog

Test Vlog.

R.W. Martin Youth Outreach

http://www.facebook.com/l.php?u=http%3A%2F%2Fwww.rwmartinyouthoutreach.org%2F&h=2AQFTLti1

Site! ^^

http://www.facebook.com/RWMartin.Youth.Outreach

Facebook Page ^^

"OUR MISSION is to find disadvantaged, at-risk and homeless youth and help them improve their lives by encouraging spiritual, emotional/mental, educational and physical well being through support of personal needs.
We offer a hand up to the youth of our community

Impact statement 
We are committed to caring and inspiring change by supporting our youth with the tools they need to be successful
All donations are given to the kids, which in turn, turn into successful members of our community so it’s a win/win situation."

Perception Scene

Look, and pay close attention. Where are you now? You're sitting in your desk in English class, with the chattering ringing in your ears and all you can think about is how calm outside looks. The leaves rustle together in a sense like small children would, and the ground was as pale as your face could ever be. Almost as if your face was envious of the ground. The chatter dies down, and you abruptly notify yourself of the fact that you're on the bus ride home. A normal human being would say to themselves, that it went by rather fast. But you.. You're different. You think to yourself: "That happened in a matter of seconds. Not minutes, hours, days, but seconds."


Because, you see, there is no past, or future. Life only consists of the present. Then, following thought occurs, you're in your bed, uncomfortably wriggling around, staring at the popcorn ceiling; hoping the little bits don't fall inside the corners of your eyes. 


Wake up, you're in English class again, only its four months later. But wait.. just a second ago, you were in bed. Yes, are you starting to see yet? Life goes by in seconds. Always in seconds. This thing we call our life's is made up of  belittled moments, in which we cannot cherish, because they slip away from our creased fingertips as fast as you can cry out your lover's first name. So what's the point?


You're at your 21st Birthday party at the next second, throwing up in the bathroom, knowing you won't recall much in the morning. And so the cycle continues. 


Additionally, there's something that decussates my every day mentation. How can I confide in the mirror to assure me that I look the way I believe that I do? I mean sure, I can witness my hair fall over my eyes, and I can feel my skin. But is that really present? Or am I just assuming so due to the mere fact that the mirror portrays it? Is it there because I believe in the mirrors assurance? Something I'll never know.

...

I bury my eyelids with my knuckles, and open them wide to find my wrinkled skin and bruises before me. I'm 68, and haven't a clue why my life ended so badly. I'm still short, I haven't a wife or grandchildren, and I still can't figure out how to drink my morning coffee, professionally. I still think about her. I still think about all the roads I would've blazed, with my tiny feet, one foot ascending the other in a child-like manner. I wear these old yellow overalls, in this incredibly small, grey-headed work of a home. I still tend to bite my finger, when I blush about the things the flowers tell me, when I'm gardening. Plant life grew all around me, because I was feeling rather lonely and to my astonishment, they decided to accompany me in small talk. I smiled because I knew, in the next second, I'd be dead.

Imogen Heap

Amazing. This is the lullaby I'm going to sing to my kids before they sleep.