The white goal line below me is chipped and faded.

I shift my weight, balancing on my toes.

The lush green field has never felt so tiny.

The net so small engulfs me like a tight blanket.

A crisp silence falls upon the viewers.

Only the shooter and I are existent.

The sky is blue, but my eyes are dark.

It is a war between us,

and only one can be victorious.

I rub my hands together shakily.

All eyes burn into me.

My stomach is queasy, heart beating through my chest.

“I can do this” is a broken record in my brain.

The refs whistle sounds,

breaking the dark silence.

The shooter backs up,

kicking the dirt,

charges forward,

foot in contact with the ball.

The sphere launches itself towards me,

moving in slow motion.

I lunge to the side,

my eyes, narrow,

grasping the white ball.

There is silence, and then,

cheering and hollering fills the air.

The ball is in my hands.

My teammates are grinning like Cheshire Cat.

I guess smiles are contagious,

because one forms on my flushed face.