Hell Iced Over

Eric’s cold.

He’s on his side, knees tucked up to his chin and arms around his shins, eyes squeezed shut and bracing for impact.

And he feels cold, a little wet.

Last thing he knew he was on the football field, struggling to catch his breath as Brandon, the biggest boy on the team, charged him. But Eric doesn’t feel grass under him, or the sun overhead. He doesn’t hear the chatter of the crowd or the the ref’s whistle or Coach yelling after him.

He cracks one eye open, then the next. A different kind of cold sinks through him.

This isn’t the field, and the light above him hangs from a metal ceiling. The smell is one he can’t place, has nothing to even compare it to. He sits up, only now noticing he’s still in his pads and helmet, putting his hands down to push himself, and he realizes now he’s on ice. It stings his palms, but curiosity keeps them in place; he’s never felt this much ice at once.

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i hate how older men constantly complain about marriage and their wives ‘nagging’ when realistically it’s the woman that gets the rough end of the bargain when it comes to marriage - doing more (or all of the) chores (as well as working full time), having a manchild to look after, doing everything for the kids, copping abuse from your husband (and kids when they learn off their fathers), and much more like men have NOTHING to fucking complain about they get an easy as fuck ride and should shut their mouths and be nice to their wives for once!