You are standing on asphalt with your shoe laces double knotted and your fingers tingling. Anticipating the meteor shower of rubber balls. Anticipating the impact. You think that you can't come out of this without at least a bruised gut, thigh or forehead. You watched the previous match. These people aren't human.
The whistle blows and you join the stampede of feet running towards the centre. You mentally chant that you must get a ball. Must get a ball. Must get a - motherfucker! Somehow that faggot of a player snatched the ball away before you could wrap your hands around it. You retreat behind the safety of your teammates. It's okay. You don't have much of a throwing arm anyway. But you are light on your feet. You can dodge, catch and survive.
You blink as a ball almost makes contact with your stomach. You duck as another almost hits your side. You would catch except these aren't dodgeballs, these are fucking cannonballs. You would get knocked out with a single hit. These people are not fucking around. They want to win and your pain is their goal. You smirk as you manage to grab onto a ball. That's a player out. With the ball in hand you try to single out their weakest link but miss.
You twist back behind the shoulders of your teammates and continue to dodge as one by one, your team starts to dwindle. But at this point, all you can do is hope to survive. Left. Right. Duck. Dodge. As you try to steady your breathing, you realise that all of a sudden you're the only one left on the court.
Every nerve in your body tingle with anticipation as you watch an almost full team of men grip onto their dodgeballs and ready their arms. You almost shiver as they smirk at you, taunting as they walk close to the centre line.
'Little girl, you better run.'
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