cold siren

Cold Siren
She was empty. Every Part of her body felt cold. The beanie itched on her head. Toes chilled in the winter breeze, teeth chatted. Hands shook. The siren sounded and no cold was felt. The weather lay forgotten. The ball flew from player to player. The lights beamed sown from above and the rain drizzled yet they still played on. Chills of excitement went through the crowd. Those fans and those here for the social event mixed. The fans glued to the game, shouting player’s names, cheering when the team scored, abusing umpires for their calls. Socialites shivered in the cold, in their hand constantly were drinks. What was she? The seat was hard and at half time the winter came back. The crowd rose in one movement to get hot food. She stayed. The guy next to her had a jersey on, it was littered with autographs, his scarf filled with past players, his beanie untouched without a smudge from his team. The big screens showed replays and half time was long. The crowd returned and the siren rung out. She moved away from the autographed man and sat on her own in the aisle. The players refreshed ran, coaches screamed, socialites drank, fans abused and umpires ignored. She sat and watched. A smile lit up her face. The ball continued to fly and for one moment she forgot all life’s worries, all thoughts focused on the little red ball. Her back ached, she pulled her coat on, checked her watch and pressed the little detonator on her hand, and all life was gone. All her pain gone. Her worries of life evaporated complete darkness, the cold siren sounded but she did not hear. The autographed man did.