#santellicious

You're standing at the home plate sweating bullets, a cold, metal bat held tightly in your trembling hand. You stare bug-eyed at nothing, straight ahead of you. Your heart pounds in your chest, your head feels like it's stuffed with cotton. Someone to your side says something, but you don't quite catch it. It may have been your name, in an attempt to grab your attention, but the words fell on deaf ears.

Everything feels so far away.

The pitcher standing some distance away from you, Andy Cullen, gives you a questioning look. He's not in position to be pitching you any balls. You're not in position to be hitting any balls with that bat. You're holding it down at your side with one hand. 

Your eyes come to focus, and the first thing you see is Andy. Staring at you. Something about him looks different. Like his face. You can't read his face.

Something inside of you breaks.

Everything's red now, a blurry mess of red and green and grey and red. There's red. There isn't any red on your softball uniforms.

Sounds of panic and distress rise around you, people calling your name and some more words, over and over again. 

Andy Cullen's pinned beneath you, he's crying and screaming and trying to shield his face from oncoming blows from your metal bat. 

You feel an increasing ache in your arms and in your head. You feel nothing.