Short story

Seeing as how I haven’t done this in a while, this is the short story that I wrote for my creative writing class. As per usual with me, it doesn’t have a title.

Hope you enjoy.
Will

The air seethed, with heat and dust and quietness. Compared to the cacophony that was there before it was eerie. They looked across the field of battle at one another. The victors rejoicing. The losers downhearted.

Then, just as quickly as the silence fell, the noise started up again. Comrades celebrating with each other, enemies swapping stories. Telling tales of amazing shots, golden opportunities that had been missed and bodies being flung selflessly across the arena. Of injuries picked up and discussions about the fairness (or otherwise) of the competitors.

So many stories would be swapped and told about that day, that battle, that field. Some would become exaggerated over the years, others played down. Modesty would forbid some from telling about their true part whilst others would expand theirs, making it seem as if they had played a bigger role than they actually did.

Talk was also made about future conflicts. Planning ahead. Swapping combatants in the future, possibly to make things fairer. Then the cry came that they were expecting. With heavy hearts they started to trudge up towards the building that they had briefly escaped from. Picking up bags, jumpers and coats. Passing the ball back to the rightful owner.
The battle may have been over for that day. But there would, of course, be other games.