Creative Writing: A Sandman's Bowling Ball

The day started with clear blue skies and not a cloud in the sight. The only noise that you could hear was a concert given by the nearby crickets, and a lonely bull frog singing nearby in unison. As the evening passes on a sharp snoring noise can be heard muffled softly.

All of a sudden a sharp, loud noise woke up the dead. He unsteadily reached out and stuck the sleep button. As he dozed back off into his sleepy bliss. He rolled over gently pulling the blanket back over his head, drowning out the morning light.

The sandman started to spread the sands of dreams back into his eyes. Dreams started to reenter his mind. When he reentered the rapid eye movement, he started to see the tenth frame, and he was down by

twenty five pins. The team that he bowled on gave him plenty of encouragement as he walked up onto the lane for his turn. As he was slowly getting ready to roll his shot, his teammates were pacing back and forth like a youngster on a pair of roller skates.
He reached over and grabbed his bottle of water and took a gulp from it, and replaced it back on the table that he had grabbed it from. He then grabbed his rosin bag slowly squeezing it, drying the moisture from his hand. He stepped up onto the approach slamming the bag back onto the scorer’s table creating a smoke bomb. The gentleman that was sitting at the table started to cough like he had a head cold that wouldn’t end. He glanced back to the gentleman and said that he was sorry. His attention was drawn back to the bowling alley, as he glanced up at the scoreboard. James did some quick arithmetic in his head to figure out what it would take for him to win the title game for the Detroit National Tournament.
He wiped the sweat off his hand and reached down and picked up his bowling ball.

James took a deep breath, staring at his target, that all of his teammates are expecting him to be able to knock them down. He started his approach, swinging the bowling ball in a pendulum motion, while he took his five step approach. He releases the ball in a clocklike precision, and carefully watched it, as it rolled down the lane. It seemed that it would take forever for the ball to reach its intended target. The pins exploded like a bomb went off, for the strike. He quickly raised one finger up into the air and said to himself,” That’s

one.”
He walked back to the approach, attempting to block out all the noise and chaos that were attempting to gain his attention. James reached over and grabbed his rosin bag once more, and started to squeeze it one more time. He slammed it down onto the table one more time. While he stood there, he began to go into a mental trance, concentrating on the next shot he had to throw. He stood there concentrating; the sound seemed to buffer out like a television that was just shut off.
While he stood in silence, he pictured throwing another strike. James finally reached down and grabbed his bowling ball, in the same manner he had done in the entire tournament. James silently stepped into position; he took a deep breath, and stepped forward on the long journey down the bowling lane. He approached the foul line that stood there across the land. His muscles began to throb, down to the veins in his biceps and triceps, as he slung the ball once more into a backwards pendulum motion. The bowling ball released from his hand and began its long trip down the bowling lane.
His teammates began to roar, as if they were at Game 7 of the World Series.

The ball reached the end of its journey, and the pins to explode for his second strike. He raised his hand once more triumphantly and held up two fingers. Slowly he reached down and grabbed his rosin bag once more. James stood there and intently stared at the scoreboard one more time, figuring out what exactly he needed to throw in his final shot. He glanced over his shoulder at Paul their lead-off bowler, and raised his eyebrow in question. Paul stood there and rose up four fingers, as if he truly knew what James was thinking. Noise in the bowling alley, became definitely silent. It reminded James about the church he was raised in, right before of

mass.
He looked at his teammates once more in a sign of confidence, of his following shot. James slammed his rosin bag one final time, making the cloud of dust that everyone had become accustomed to seeing when James bowled. He reached down and picked up his bowling bowl, and approached the alley. James took a deep breath, and started down the bowling alley. He swung the bowling ball behind him, and finally releases the ball with every ounce of strength, that he could mustard. When the ball connected on the bowling lane a thud echoed throughout the bowling alley. A soft roar began to escalate behind him as he stood there watching the bowling ball, work its way down the bowling lane. When the ball was about to strike the pins, there was a sharp, abrupt, noise, startling him awake. He laid there in bed; his heart was beating ninety miles an hour, pounding in his chest, catching his breath.