A-Separate-War (Fiction)

A Story by Abishai100

Narrator recounts a boyhood-field of soccer dramatization (somehow) pertinent for an adult-Earth age Selfie-culture of things jitters, war, idealization, and (maybe) gavels.

Thought I was done in my Tuesday-day of writing but had this old-time childhood memory thinking to adapt it into a meaningful fiction for reflection, since half of why I write is because it helps me adapt the everyday/memories of human-life into a prism for things of superstitions/improvements. Hope you like it (Happy January),

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"I was in junior-high, somewhat estranged from my buddy-pal friend of same ethnic culture group activity in a Homeland-Jersey area called Echelon (suburbia), reunited with him and another kid, a stronger and more brutish type who exhibited some wild and aggressive behaviors. Well, the three of us young-lads decided to play a 2-on-1 backyard soccer game, since we all played the game for fun and in teams. Well, my estranged buddy from when I was in kindergarten, Ishmael, parted-ways with me, since he got other more wilder friends. The other kid, the slightly-more brutish type, Rafael, always gave me goosebumps with his muscular aggression. Well, the two kids now decided to challenge me as a lone-contender, while they played (together) on the same-side...against me. This would be a special memory for my developing/growing Earthling life and future Selfie-culture creative-writing for things...both dark and weird. Follow along, friends."

ISHMAEL: Well, we're all tied up, and I'm surprised, given you played all alone!
ME: Well, buddies...I dare say our 3-3 tied-score shows we're equally game, ha.

RAFAEL: Well, since it's tied-up, we decide the game on penalty-shoot, ok?

ME: I get first shot, right...since I'm (all) alone, buddies?

ISHMAEL: Well, that's fair for contest, but you better not punk-out or lose, ok!

ME: What have I to lose but get a field play for when I'm an adult drinking ale?

RAFAEL: Game-on (self-like), punks.

"Would you believe I won the game, against these two (rather) intimidating young-lads in that backyard-soccer contest for memory (ok)? Yes, friends...I won that penalty-shoot decider and walked-away with a 4-3 trumpet for an adult-life memoir, which is what this is (maybe!). Ishmael became some kind of South American big-wig; and I'm not sure what happened to Rafael (at all). However, I felt like the 3-of-us would never (ever!) forget that field-of-soccer (for memoir) as we each embraced our developing mod-Earth 'culture' of social networks for activity, commentary, knucklebones, games, consumerism, capitalism, and cinema (Facebook-like)."