Amazing Kids! Magazine


By Gabi Capocelli, age 15, Colorado

Sweat beads drip down his broad forehead as he feels the sweet September air dance across the back of his neck.
Each bead slowly slides down his stolid and estranged face
as he starts himself up.
This one’s for the kill.
If he makes it,
They win.
If he doesn’t,
They walk off the field with their heads hanging in an aura of grief.
He calls the play,
His raspy voice loud and punchy…
He grasps that brown leather as if his hands were only made to caress its white laces.
Now his primitive core kicks in.
It’s physical.
With the tap of his toes on the green grass,
he changes gears.
He speeds down the field, arms pumping in synchronization to the rhythm of his beating heart.
His body darts and weaves,
Mentally fastened to the pound, pound, pounding of his central control center.
The distant echo of cheering and yelling are blurred by his thrust,
as other bodies ricochet off his own, acting as a compelling catalyst for what is to come.
He has it.
Something so genuine and real that it leaks out of him.
His wanting,
His yearning,
His hoping,
His needing
to run and run until he can’t run anymore.
To dodge and juke until he collapses on the field, eradicated:
restless and worthy.
He climbs back up again.
He will risk it all for that one sound.
The ringing of victory as his shoelaces brush the goal line and the faces all around him are bruised with signs of
to make or break the game and lead the team to a win.
natural and sophisticated as he flies down the field untouchably.
intrinsically blazoned on his soul.
Intangible dreams for something greater then his being
For the game and the vibration his fingers allow against the perforated leather, as it perspires in harmony with him.
Through the crowds of doubters and competitors, he bursts,
victory tarnishes his hands like blood as he feels the world pause in stillness: