The Ball – Sunday Photo Fiction

AnElephantCant play at football
He isn’t too quick on his feet
But he is quite roly-poly
So if he is the goalie
His team almost never gets beat

This is a weekly invitation to write a short piece of fiction (c. 150 words) based on a photo prompt (below) provided by Alastair.
Just click on the link to see some more rounded responses to this week’s excellent prompt.
But please cast an eye over AnElephant’s sensationally sad soccer story first.

Copyright Al Forbes

The Ball

The screech of brakes and the scream of tyres send him hurtling round to the front of the house.
He sees a long black car accelerating down the lane towards the main road.
He looks around wildly, sees nothing.
As the dust settles his eyes focus on the plastic football, lying squashed in the tyre tracks.
His heart flips, his stomach churns.
His world is swaying.
Then he hears the sound of a sob.
Jack!
Almost weeping with relief, he gathers his older son, still only four years old, in his arms.
What happened, son?
They burst my ball, he weeps.
The panic is still fighting its way up his throat.
But where is your little brother?
They burst my ball!
He fights to stay calm, to speak without scaring the shaking child.
We will get a new ball, I promise. Please, Jack, where is Theo?
He went to the shops with Mummy.