Strike one.
He faced back into the field as the pitcher started his wind up.
The ball whistled past his shoulder before he even began to swing.
Strike two.
This time, he was ready. This time he wouldn't miss.
The pitcher was on the mound. The ball… curved through the air towards him.
He swung.
The sound of….
Nothing.
As he walked back to the bench, head down. Dejected, looking at his shoes.
Three strikes and you’re….
The words resonated in his head.
You're...
The words resonated in his head.
You're...
Slowly, his scowl became a smile.
You’re a…
Turkey.
Maybe baseball just wasn't his sport after all.
____________
Written for Trifecta: Week Ninety-Two, using the word Turkey in the slightly unusual context: three successive strikes in bowling.
This is cute. I can relate...anything that requires catching and/or throwing is not my sport.
ReplyDeleteCute piece!
ReplyDeleteThis is sweet. If we're lucky we find out what we're good at.
ReplyDeleteWhat a terrible place to be in. With luck he'll find something else that works for him.
ReplyDeleteThank you for linking up!
Oohhhh, that was sly! I like his smile.
ReplyDelete