Fiction!
Oh, man.... I've never shared anything I've written, so I'm kind of embarrassed, but I wanted to post this to celebrate Wimbledon! Yeah, uh... I watch tennis.
Just wanted to say, this isn't meant as mean to anyone, and it's supposed to wish Federer a long and happy career.
Title: Centre Court, ficlet
Genre: Gen
Characters: Ryoma Echizen, Roger Federer
Rating: G
Everything seemed eerily quiet--whether it was or wasn't--to Ryoma Echizen. Something was surreal about the blues and whites, the green of the grass, the red of his racquet, the sea of moving color that had suddenly stopped. He didn't seem to realize or care about the fact that all of Japan was hanging on his every move. The next few hours could very well change his life forever.
There was a blur of motion, the flip of a ponytail, and then stillness. Complete stillness, silence punctuated only by short cries of support for Ryoma and his opponent. He was number two in the world. The man across from him was ranked number one. Roger Federer.
There was white, and there was green, and there was that green, the green of the round object that suddenly seemed foreign in his hand. He bounced it, because it seemed right. He grasped it, because it felt right. He tossed it, and it just was. Right. The crowd held its breath. Everyone, even Federer knew what was coming.
It wasn't about Japan. It wasn't about tennis. It wasn't even about Federer. It was about the white of the lines, the white of the uniforms, the white of the clouds that dotted the sky. It was about the green, and the blues of the umpire's uniform.
Being the best was all that ever mattered, anyway.
((OoC note: I got a plotbunny and I had to write it, and Kaji is my official scapegoat. So. XD))
Just wanted to say, this isn't meant as mean to anyone, and it's supposed to wish Federer a long and happy career.
Title: Centre Court, ficlet
Genre: Gen
Characters: Ryoma Echizen, Roger Federer
Rating: G
Everything seemed eerily quiet--whether it was or wasn't--to Ryoma Echizen. Something was surreal about the blues and whites, the green of the grass, the red of his racquet, the sea of moving color that had suddenly stopped. He didn't seem to realize or care about the fact that all of Japan was hanging on his every move. The next few hours could very well change his life forever.
There was a blur of motion, the flip of a ponytail, and then stillness. Complete stillness, silence punctuated only by short cries of support for Ryoma and his opponent. He was number two in the world. The man across from him was ranked number one. Roger Federer.
There was white, and there was green, and there was that green, the green of the round object that suddenly seemed foreign in his hand. He bounced it, because it seemed right. He grasped it, because it felt right. He tossed it, and it just was. Right. The crowd held its breath. Everyone, even Federer knew what was coming.
It wasn't about Japan. It wasn't about tennis. It wasn't even about Federer. It was about the white of the lines, the white of the uniforms, the white of the clouds that dotted the sky. It was about the green, and the blues of the umpire's uniform.
Being the best was all that ever mattered, anyway.
((OoC note: I got a plotbunny and I had to write it, and Kaji is my official scapegoat. So. XD))