Every line backer on the team was chasing him now. He only weighed a third of what those big boys weighed but he had to have the ball. He ran across streets, through alleys and yards, jumping fences and shrubs.
With them dead on his heels, he finally made it to his destination. Only then did they all skid to a stop. The Riverside Nursing Home were the letters etched upon the door.
He walked inside calmly with the football players slowly following awkwardly behind him. He walked directly up to a wheelchair where a girl, ashen with death, was seated.
She painfully lifted her eyes and focused on the boy. With recognition she faintly smiled.
“I got it, sis.” he loudly whispered as not to bother the other patients.
She looked at the ball and then to the football players that had now closed in on the boy. “This ball,” she started, “was the very ball that my father, your coach, hit me in the head with. I know because the stitching is stained red.”
“But you guys are safe. Dad’s gone,” grinned the boy.