The post is written in response to a prompt from Genre Scribes: Friday Fiction Writing Challenge #29 — Tennis.
I think the part I loved the most was when I was first released.
That whooooosh, the rush of fresh air as the can was popped open, the golden light that greeted me as I tumbled out onto the luscious green grass. I know I was only there for a moment but it’s still such a vivid memory.
I briefly chatted to some of my co-workers while we waited, I think a couple of them were a little scared, which is weird, because it’s literally what we were made for, but I guess it makes sense. Not everyone wants to be thrown up in the air to be hit by a racquet.
After that, of course, it was down to business, we all have a job to do, right?
I didn’t have to wait long before I’m rolled fast, picked up, thrown and bounced. Then I’m in a pocket, then I’m up in the air, then BOOOOM I’m flying back and forth so fast, the grass, the net, the people are all a blur of colour and noise.
It’s wonderful. I felt so alive!
But then, just like that, you hear the words and it’s all over. Game, set, and match.
It only really struck me when I was dropped back into the cannister, back into the darkness.
I’ve heard that sometimes us older tennis balls see the light again but, well, for me at least, I’ve seen nothing yet.
Don’t get me wrong I know I’ll never be new again, but, ya know, I’d at least like to be used.