By Lyndon James
My father was shouting, telling me what to do. So when my chance came, I took it, running hard and fast.
In an instant they were after me, closing in, hunting me down. Ahead stood the solitary figure of Ramirez, my last obstacle.
Instinctively I took aim, knowing I’d only get one shot. His reactions were lightening quick, but even so, he never stood a chance.
Today, this fond memory brings a smile to my lips, though there are tears in my eyes. My father’s gone, but I’ll never forget how proud he was when I scored my very first goal.
Wonderful father and son story. I can feel the father’s pride in the boy.
Beautiful. Especially to know it’s the first.
Your writing was so dark that the twist at the end was brilliant.
I liked this, because I thought it was going to wind up being “shoot a picture” and was not expecting “goal.” Very good!