This is a regular column featuring original poetry and fiction by and for teens, provided by Figment.com, an online community writing site for young people.
By Jake Walters, hoping to get a home run someday
I never was the hitting typeBut this season I practiced more then everA ball over the fenceIs any hitter's dream It's time for the first game of the season The leather gloves fill the air with a strange aromaWood is cracking as it hits a hard ball for practiceDirt is in my eyes and they water upMy hands are soiled and dry I glance around and take some swingsAnd I feel the tension risingI pull my arm above my headWince, then stretch The cold of AutumnGives me goosebumps and the shiversMy warm hands rub my skinIt isn't very effective I forgot my glovesAnd my breath is clearly seenBut the dirt of the field is satisfyingWhen it hits me and warms me up Salt and butter is the new smellMy family bought popcornThe concession stand opened upThat means only one thing... GAME ON ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ I am breathing heavilyI am extremely nervousI am next up to batI'm not ready yet Two outsBottom of the ninthNo one on baseTied up I grab my helmetAnd step up to the plateThe pitcher looks at me,Then the catcher He is concentrating where he will pitchAnd what pitch he will throwThe pitcher pulls his glove inAnd throws the ball I swing and miss"Steeeeriiike one!" yells the umpThe pitcher repeatsSo do I "Steeeeriike two" shouts the umpHis loud voice makes me madI make sure to hit the ball this timeI step out of the batter's box to take a breather Back in the box and ready to goI pull my bat up to my shouldersThe pitch is fired inAnd I swing with all my might As I swung I closed my eyesThe only thing I heard was a loud pingMy eyes excitedly burst openThe bat drops and my feet thrust dust and dirt I round first baseThe ball is still sailingSecond baseI am sprinting as fast as possible So fast like my butt's on fireI squint my eyes and and focusThird base and my coach tells me to slow downI pretend as if I didn't hear, smiling Had I glanced at the outfielders climb the fenceI understand why Coach is laughing nowAnd I hit my forehead with my palmI am thinking I should have jogged It would have made it feel much cooler.