500 Word Drabble – Shrimps

Antique-Pencil2
Standard

Sneakers squeaked on the polished floor as they waited for the bodies to thin out. One by one being called forward from the line of scrutiny. Until only five remained. The same five as last time… and the time before that.

Knuckles rapped on a clipboard. “Well boys,” the graying teacher stated. “Looks like you five are a team… again. Feels just like High school ‘all’ over again, huh?”

The four divided teams were given different color jerseys and a shiny new ball before heading to their designated courts.

Neck muscles strained to look his, much taller, opponent in the eyes. Rion was not surprised by the overconfident smirk he found. As the coach pointed out, nothing had changed.

“You shrimps ready to get you’re asses handed to you?”

Retort on the tip of his tongue, Rion instead concentrated on basketball held between them. Once both teams were ready, it would be tossed high in the air signally the start of the game.

It was a retelling of David and Goliath. Puberty did Rion no favors in the height department, and none on his team stood taller then 5′ 5″. But, that statistic was the only constant left from the hot summer months. After years of being picked last at line up; after years of being the butt end of ‘vertically challenged’ jokes, he and his friends determined they, themselves, were the only ones at fault for their poor performance on the court.

The tall jock easily took the win at center court, tipping the ball back to his teammate.

This time was different however.

The ball never made its designation, instead being punched back the direction it came from, straight into Rion’s awaiting hands. He grinned, flashing teeth at his opponent’s shocked expression. The flow of the game had been reversed in seconds.

Dashing to the side, Rion was not going to wait for the muscle head’s brain to catch up. He knew the path when following his team. Years of being placed on the same team gave them plenty of practice after all.

The opposing rear guards positioned themselves under the basket they were to protect, creating a towering wall of muscle and bad memories for the five shortest people in the room.

Rion continued forward, dribbling the ball cleanly, focusing on the enemy before him and the short red head strategically placed as a bridge between the two.

Calf muscles tensing, Rion jumped, placing one hand on his teammate’s head, pushing down to gain the extra height he needed but could not accomplish on his own. Sailing high above the heads of the jocks and slamming the orange ball into basket with a shout.

His feet never touched the ground, instead he was engulfed by his teammate’s arms, whoops of victory, and the satisfactory sound of the buzzer. The jock’s weren’t the only ones in the gym starring, stunned, at the scoreboard.

“What was that about shrimps?” Rion finally retorted. “I couldn’t hear your over the buzzer.”

Sneakers squeaked on the polished floor as they waited for the bodies to thin out. One by one being called forward from the line of scrutiny. Until only five remained. The same five as last time… and the time before that.

Knuckles rapped on a clipboard. “Well boys,” the graying teacher stated. “Looks like you five are a team… again. Feels just like High school ‘all’ over again, huh?”

The four divided teams were given different color jerseys and a shiny new ball before heading to their designated courts.

Neck muscles strained to look his, much taller, opponent in the eyes. Rion was not surprised by the overconfident smirk he found. As the coach pointed out, nothing had changed.

“You shrimps ready to get you’re asses handed to you?”

Retort on the tip of his tongue, Rion instead concentrated on basketball held between them. Once both teams were ready, it would be tossed high in the air signally the start of the game.

It was a retelling of David and Goliath. Puberty did Rion no favors in the height department, and none on his team stood taller then 5′ 5″. But, that statistic was the only constant left from the hot summer months. After years of being picked last at line up; after years of being the butt end of ‘vertically challenged’ jokes, he and his friends determined they, themselves, were the only ones at fault for their poor performance on the court.

The tall jock easily took the win at center court, tipping the ball back to his teammate.

This time was different however.

The ball never made its designation, instead being punched back the direction it came from, straight into Rion’s awaiting hands. He grinned, flashing teeth at his opponent’s shocked expression. The flow of the game had been reversed in seconds.

Dashing to the side, Rion was not going to wait for the muscle head’s brain to catch up. He knew the path when following his team. Years of being placed on the same team gave them plenty of practice after all.

The opposing rear guards positioned themselves under the basket they were to protect, creating a towering wall of muscle and bad memories for the five shortest people in the room.

Rion continued forward, dribbling the ball cleanly, focusing on the enemy before him and the short red head strategically placed as a bridge between the two.

Calf muscles tensing, Rion jumped, placing one hand on his teammate’s head, pushing down to gain the extra height he needed but could not accomplish on his own. Sailing high above the heads of the jocks and slamming the orange ball into basket with a shout.

His feet never touched the ground, instead he was engulfed by his teammate’s arms, whoops of victory, and the satisfactory sound of the buzzer. The jock’s weren’t the only ones in the gym starring, stunned, at the scoreboard.

“What was that about shrimps?” Rion finally retorted. “I couldn’t hear your over the buzzer.”

Leave a Reply

Your email address will not be published. Required fields are marked *

You may use these HTML tags and attributes: <a href="" title=""> <abbr title=""> <acronym title=""> <b> <blockquote cite=""> <cite> <code> <del datetime=""> <em> <i> <q cite=""> <strike> <strong>