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World War 3

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My hear felt as if it was beating 1,000 beats per minute. The last time it felt like that, I was on the Rocket ride, in which you’re shot up in the air and nearly free fall to an immediate stop. At the time, I had thought my seatbelt had fallen off. I freaked out and screamed louder than ever before. Fortunately, I didn’t die and all seemed fine and dandy. I didn’t know that my life would soon be threatened again. This experience could be the end of my existence, or the end of my team winning city against our rival school; Poston.

The game was to be played at Mountain View High School. The high school students and football players were all around us, no pressure. As the rival school arrived, all of their uniforms identical, we prepared ourselves. The other team girls looked pumped and ready, but they lacked our confidence. I smiled in cruel anticipation. My passing teammates said encouraging things such as, “This’ll be an easy win,” or

“Don’t worry; we can take them,” or

“Just don’t give up and don’t get nervous.” The latter of the three was probably the wisest words said to me that day.

We started our singles matches first. We had to win at least five out of the nine matches. After shaking hands and wishing the other good luck, a masquerade of amicability, we took our rackets in hand and hammered the tennis ball back and forth, as if our lives depended on it. In our minds, it did.

My confidence and pride had kept me alive for the beginning of the battle, but as the war waged on, my score dwindled, 3:7. My heart pounded and sweat rolled down my back, Soaking into my Stapley tennis t-shirt. Four more hits, a rally, and she had won. 3:8.

I walked back to my team with my head hung low in shame. But there was still hope. We had only lost two games and had won two games. With the scores tied, we watched our other two teammate’s battle. Both succeeded and the score increased to 4:2. We needed just one more triumph to be the victor if the entire game.

With that in mind, my partner and I made our way onto the court. We were second to begin. Already the first and supposedly the best, doubles team of ours were losing. While we played, we watched out of the corner of our eyes to see them lose altogether. The third doubles team had also started. They, too, lost. It was like watching close comrades fall in battle, engulfed by the earth, with us alone to fight for what they had dies fighting for. Only this was more than a battle; this was World WarIII!

With the score again tied at 4:4, my partner and I continued to fight. WE could almost feel the weight of our school on our shoulders. We smiled at each other in encouragement. We needed to get three more points to win our match. The match that would win the entire game. We were set and ready for anything. That’s when things became ghastly.

With reality starting to sink in, we began to panic. Both of our hearts were pounding. We inhaled huge gulps of air and exhaled even slower, in hopes that we might pacify our fears. The sweat that had once dripped down our backs was now dried uncomfortably and sticky on our skin. The sweat smell had to be foul, but when your life is at stake, you sense of smell isn’t exactly the top priority. I could actually feel my pulse under my skin, almost enough to see the skin moving in sync with the rapid rhythm.

The Poston girl gently threw the ball in the air and smashed the ball to me as her serve. I positioned myself and swung. No! I had swung too short and it ran straight into the net. Oh how I despised that net! The Poston side of the crowd cheered. I sighed in frustration and rotated. My partner again repeated my action. Our panic was so evident, it was embarrassing. The score came closer and closer. How could we not get three stinking points?! The crowd roared loudly, encouraging sentiments to the Poston team. Their patronage seemed to give them strength. With our attention distracted, they scored even more points.

I looked out into the annoying crowd, half tempted to unleash my anger on them and tell them to shut their mouths so that we could concentrate. But I met the eyes of the people I knew. Both of my parents had come; my dad, making goofy thumbs up signs at me and my teammates and coach were all smiling at us. My partner must’ve seen them too for we both had a sudden burst of energy. It was our serve. My partner using her lightning serve killed the ball right at the other girl. They didn’t stand a chance. She served another speed ball and another! Our last point and we would win. She served, out! Second serve, a slow serve and they hit it right back. But we had it. Back and forth and boom! I hit it right between them. We won! Not only our doubles but the whole game! We had defeated Poston and were still undefeated!
When I look back I smile. The battle was over. Great satisfaction and almost an insane glee filled my being. Relief had been immediate after a long, hard-fought battle, a battle of watching our comrades fall and skill keeping our heads high. We made history. We had won World War III.





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This article has 2 comments. Post your own now!

DAD said...
Dec. 26, 2008 at 5:06 am
Excellent true story. You have definitely come a long way in dealing with pressure and in your writing skills. Great job!
 
Heidi N. said...
Dec. 24, 2008 at 6:23 am
GREAT! Hilarious!
 
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