Original Writing

Original Writing

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Original Writing

The Rink, a place of glory, and defeat, a place of love, and hate. As
you walked down the tiled corridor, your foot steps echo back and
forth, your breath joins the echoing so the foot steps are not
lonely. You are walking across at fast pace but as you go past there
is pictures nailed up on the wall showing faces of delight. Looking at
these pictures you hear shouting and cheering, it was the caught
moment of past glory; it was a picture of you.

There in fount of you there is a brass shiny door knob, you place your
worn hand on it and as you do there is a white flash. The white bright
light begins to clear and you start to see a faint picture of a gold
cup with the engraving “player of the decade”. This picture gives you
a warm fuzzy feeling inside but as the picture fades away you start to
feel cold. You then are looking back at the brass door knob; your hand
jerks back as the door knob is freezing cold. But you twist it and the
door swings open.

You enter the room and there is a thick must in the air, you wade
though it and reach wooden benches, they look hard and uncomfortable
but as you look above there is steel hooks and above that your name.
Condensation from the air was settling on your name and the ink began
to run. You felt faint and a white flash appears. This time you felt
anger and pain, you saw a strongly built man, and he had pain in his
eyes and looked devastated and shocked. There were people with white
coats around him with face masks over their mouths on the back of one
coat you saw “team doctor”. As the picture fades the face of the man
flashes before you and you see yourself.

You then return to the corridor with a sweat braking out. As you turn
for a way out a pulling sensation makes you walk towards to a door.

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As
you draw near to the door your ears start ringing, you hear clapping,
chanting and whistling. The door opens before you. As you walk out it
feels like you are walking on water as you hear your name being
chanted. You then slip and fall like an old oak tree. As you fall you
look around. You see shiny cheap plastic chairs and two red goals at
either end. You hit the ground, you where not walking on water but
ice.

You then realise you are in an ice hockey rink, not anyone though;
this was your old clubs ice hockey rink. Now the flash backs begin to
make sense. The gold cup the man in pain it all made sense. It was all
connected to you. You had been nominated to win the award player of
the year. But you had got injured during the game, you career blow
away dandelion in the wind. You had been so close to the cup, the
greatest award, you would have been recognised for life and after
death. It was taken away you are a failure a wet paper bag, you feel
as useful as a chocolate fire guard. You are over you life over and
your dream shattered on a million pieces. You then pull out a gun, its
cold barrel to your head. The trigger is pulled you fall, you are
dead. Your blood started to make the ice red it spreads all over it
then stops suddenly just like your carrier did.
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