This is a story I wrote in grade seven but I've changed it to first person and i'm elongating it because I had to cut it short to meet the deadline.
I flipped up the collar of my leather jacket and hunched my shoulders against the cold breeze. I still couldn’t believe we had pulled it off. I closed my eyes to relive the final moments of the game.
It was the last play of the game and the team was down by 3 points.
Hut, Hut! Screamed the quarter back and I took off like a rocket. Running ten, twenty yards, I looked over my shoulder, but didn’t dare slow down. The ball was already flying through the air towards me. It was going to shoot right over my head. No wait, it was good! The ball had practically leapt into my hands.
I poured on the speed and crossed into the end zone as the referee blew the whistle and twirled his flag to signal the end of the game. The home crowd roared their approval. The entire home team raced onto the field, slapping high fives and cheering along the way. Coach Harpmen congratulated me and was right about to offer me his Gatorade soaked hand when the ear splitting screech of brakes snapped me back to reality.
I whipped up my arms as if they could protect me, but the crunch never came. I was standing hunched in the middle of the street. I slowly looked up and saw the rear end of a car with skid marks on either side of me leading up to it a couple of feet away. It had never even hit me. There was something wrong. I looked down at my shaking hands and watched wide eyed as they flickered in and out of existence.