Creative Writing: Pass The Ball

“Pass the ball Henry!” Tom screams at me. Tom, my twin sister Kat, and I are playing a simple game of backyard soccer using the net my father bought for me when I was 7 years old. I am 13 years old now and the net has worn down quite a bit. That’s why when the ball hit the crossbar, the goal wobbled and almost dismantled. The goal was also rusting, and left very visible dark orange-red spots. I finally pass the ball after being a bit of a showboat but Tom misses and the ball soars over the goal and into the dense forest which lay ahead.
“Sorry Hen,” Tom pleads. He always calls me Hen because he is too lazy to say my 5 letter name. I don’t mind, but his ability to be so lazy but still be so good at so many activities amazes me. Kat, on the other hand is fuming for the reason that now it is her turn to get the ball. No one likes to get the ball since we saw a snake sticking it’s head up from the pile of wood, leaves, and dirt. When all 3 of us saw that, we ran faster than Usain Bolt ever could.

It’s Friday the 13th and I’m really scared,” Kat convinces Tom.
“No, scaredy Kat, it’s your turn,” I mock.
“AH!” I shriek. An eerie moan! I swear I heard it! After waiting the longest 10 seconds of my life I grab the Brazuca soccer ball and sprint faster than I’ve ever sprinted before. I get back to let Kat and Tom look at me gasping for air after sprinting for a fairly long distance.
“Such a baby,” Tom laughs. “Is little Hen afraid of the