#amwriting ✍

Sometimes, you can’t go home.

Short Story #25

Jack Payet absentmindedly sat in the empty office amidst the clutter of reports strewn on the floor, twisting his wedding ring back and forth bruising the pale finger in the process. Things were not as they used to be and he found himself staying later at the office pretending to throw himself into his journalistic work so he’ll be the last person to leave. 

Until he stopped leaving altogether. 

His assistant editor had found him asleep on the couch twice with an overnight bag on the floor but didn’t have the gall to say anything. However, curiosity got the best of her the fifth time she found him chasing sleep away with a yawn as he struggled to get his jacket on to begin work for seven and without holding back, breached his privacy by remarking, “Don’t you go home anymore, Jack?” 

And before he could stop himself, words were tumbling out of his mouth. “Sometimes, you can’t go home.” Before she could ask what he meant, words that he never shared with anyone since the mishap tumbled out in quick succession before he changed his mind about sharing. 

“The comfy embrace of bed and sheets no longer welcomes me. Our bedroom feels… hallowed out as if it’s suffering from a terrible loss. I used to hang on to her words. Her breath was mine to take. I just can’t accept the fact that Denise won’t be coming back. Without her, home is never going to be the same again. 

“I simply cannot go back there now that it feels like a tomb… cold and empty.” 

He bows his head in silent respect for his loss and dusty brown hair flops into tired gray-green eyes hiding stories that were yet to be told.

Not knowing what to say for she was not expecting a grieving response to her rhetorical question, his assistant awkwardly asked if he’ll like a cup of coffee. He nodded, not willing himself to speak anymore. 

His heart ached painfully for his beloved. 

So he sat alone in the empty office twirling the ring around his finger as if willing his wife to come walking through the door, but it was all in vain. 

All grammatical errors are mine.

This short is part of a serial I’m currently working on titled “Sanctimonious”. Jack Payet is one of the main characters that is dealing with a huge loss as you can tell from the story. Did his wife leave him? Did he do something regrettable and is too late to fix it? Is his wife dead? Speculations. Speculations.

I’ll like to say more, but this is a story that my bestie (You guys know Tammy!) is reading whenever I update it and I don’t want to spoil much for her. Also, I simply wanted to write a little angst. 

***GIFs via Google Search

Image result for gif merci beaucoup

#amwriting ✍

This Love Story Will Self-Destruct In 5…

Short Story #23
A crossover fanfiction

An Ethan Hunt romance.

With Wonder Woman.

This is a story.

A love story.

Although it didn’t start off as such.

Diana was a force to be reckoned with and she thought that…

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…until she met Agent Ethan Hunt.

But Hunt didn’t give her a second glance for he was on a mission for the CIA. She blinked and he was gone. The next time she encounters him, he was on the Vienna State Opera rooftop helping some femme fatale off the roof. 

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There was a little spark between him and the beauty in the billowing yellow dress waiting to be ignited and this made Diana instantly jealous another feeling she wasn’t used to. As the spy duo safely slid off the roof and to the ground via rope, Superman appeared where she perched in the dark of the building opposite the Opera house.

“You seem distracted,” he said before locating the source of her distraction. “You’ve been watching that agent for weeks now.”

Wonder Woman sighs and asks…

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To which the Man of Steel somewhat harshly replies…

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“Don’t give me that lecture, Supes. I can take care of myself.” She turns to leave the rooftop when an explosion rocketed below.

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Gasping in shock, she quickly dashed to the edge to survey the damage. A car was blown to bits and Superman was too SHOOK to move from his spot. Had he not been distracted by his partner, he would’ve heard the ticking bomb wired to the Austrian President’s car. He had to remember that her heart lied elsewhere now.

“Is he…?”

“No. Your super spy boyfriend is safe.” he scornfully muses as he flew down to the scene of the crime. Wonder Woman shrugs and decides to go after the agent who was actually waiting for her at the hotel he was holed up in. 

“You’ve been following me for quite some time, Miss Prince.” Ethan appraised what he saw in front of him although she was dressed in civilian clothing. “Took you a while to come get me.” 

Diana somewhat smiled. “This is fate, Ethan and I am hoping that you’ll accept it.”

Ethan Hunt was intrigued. “Oh yeah?” he said amused. “I don’t believe in fate, but I do believe in luck and you’re in luck. Now, tell me why you were stalking me for the past few weeks and maybe we can come to some sort of an agreement.”

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That was exactly seven months ago. Now that they were a couple, they had to settle for seeing each other whenever they can even if it was just for a minute. Ethan had his secret missions and she had the world to save with the Justice League. 

Tonight, the secret island was bathed in a cold full moon. Ethan was reclining back in a chair out on the balcony half asleep healing from the last brutal mission which almost cost him an arm, but when he sensed his girlfriend close, he opened his eyes to smile at her. “Thanks for bringing me here. I needed this getaway,” he said, holding up his slung arm.

“I like taking care of you,” Diana assures him as she takes his invitation and sat on his lap. Being domesticated was also something she never thought she would be good at. She wraps her arms around his neck, his smile growing deeper. She still couldn’t get over his smiles sometimes. At how his one-in-a-million perfect combination of teeth and lips made her feel like she was the most important person in the entire galaxy. Superman never made her feel that way. She wanted to be the only one Ethan smiled at. The only one he saved his best kisses for. “And I love you just the way you are.”

“Immoderate amounts of danger and injury included?” he asked.

She nods yes. 

“I’m beginning to feel like Batman, though, with so many injur…” she quieted him with a kiss, happily ending any more need for words. But the bliss was not to last for Ethan’s cell phone interrupted the beautiful silence. They both sighed for they knew it meant business. She ran her hand through his glorious head of hair and touched his forehead with hers.

“Answer it,” she whispered as she stands. He didn’t complain as she walked away for he loved watching her walk away.

Ethan groaned in annoyance already knowing who it was, but he took the call anyway. A recorded voice immediately fills his ear: “Your mission, should you choose to accept it -“

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ELSEWHERE…

Superman sulked rather nastily as he sat in the Watch Tower alone. Normally, Wonder Woman will be on watch duty with him, but she was on some secret island with that stupid secret agent on a mini getaway. He had every intention to destroy Hunt in the building blast, but the bastard made it out alive. The bruises and the broken arm was enough to make Superman smugly smile. The puny mortal was no match for him.

Hunt was Diana’s sun and moon, but Superman was about to end the universe to win her heart back. 

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This story was actually a few months in the making. I thought about sharing it earlier, but the time never felt right. I am not ashamed of my writing, but this is my first Crossover FanFiction and I wasn’t sure if it would’ve been welcomed. Then fear flew out the window and I decided to post it. I have never written Hunt nor WW before, so don’t judge me. I like taking characters out of their natural habitat and do the odd pairing thing every once in a while. Sydney Bristow was my preferred choice for the female protagonist, but she’s Hunt’s equal… sort of.

I think it’s time for an Ethan Hunt cartoon! As for this, there might be a part deux, but I’m not sure as yet. 🤔 I wanted the GIFs to give off a comic-y feel hence the reason they’re scattered all over. Also, I think TC is a spy in real-life and acting is just his cover. 😉

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On second thought… 🤔

I love challenging myself as a writer so I had fun writing this.

And for the WW fanatics who may argue that she wouldn’t fall in love that fast, relax, it’s just fiction… although she did flip head over heels at first sight for Superman. Not that I’m complaining, for I’ll go down with this ship.

Image result for gif wonder woman superman you're cute

***GIFs via Google Search

Image result for gif thank you for reading

#amwriting ✍

The Substitute ⚽

Short Story #22
A very short football short

The stadium lights blinded for a little bit, but that was all right. This was the moment he dreamed of for so long. This was what he had put in the extra training for long after his teammates left the training ground. The fans have just given the star of the team a standing ovation after he went down from a nasty uncalled for challenge from the defending opponent. The coach already used two substitutions and was not counting on the star, Ricky Davis, to be injured as there were only ten minutes left in the normal ninety minutes of game time. It was a frustrating night. His side was down one nil and just when Ricky was through on goal, he was taken down and off. The opponent was shown a red card and a penalty was taken but saved because the goalie had quick reflexes like Hugo Lloris.

Image result for gif hugo lloris penalty save

The coach was piling pressure on the substitute because it was now down to him to prove that he earned his call-up. To make the ball speak with his feet like he usually does on the training ground. To dazzle the spectators with his twisting and dribbling trickery as he bobbed and weaved pass defenders. He was like a bullet and once he took off, you couldn’t stop him unless you tug on his shirt, trip him or simply foul him. The coach was impressed with him in training but felt like he was not ready for a first-team place.

Until now.

The time has come for him to deliver and to show not only the team and coach but also the fans he was about to play in front of, that he was more than just the substitute and after tonight, his name will be on every lip.

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I’m not writing a lot lately, but I wanted to write something for football, so I came up with this short short. 😄And kudos to all the subs who come off the bench to change the game up! I think I enjoyed making the cover more than writing the story, though! Also, excuse my grammar; it’s not my forte, but I take responsibility for grammatical errors.

Thanks for reading. 💙

#amwriting ✍, Ray & Marcus da Díxon 💙

“Have you ever seen the devil face to face?”

Short Story #18
My first Christian Fiction.
Well, sort of.

“God does take too long to answer prayers,” he fussed behind the now frowning Frenchman in the coffee line. “Maybe if I see the face of God, I’ll believe in Him. It must be easier to believe in the devil.”

That was it.

Marcus turns to look at the grumbling man behind him. The man’s face was beaten with weathered lines crisscrossing from the left to right, a visible scar on the chin. He wore a baseball jersey tucked neatly into black dress pants, his hair unkempt.

“Have you ever seen the devil face to face?” Marcus calmly asked.

The man scrutinized him with hard cold blue eyes. “No, but…”

“Did the devil ever came to you in the flesh and proclaim, “Here, I am, Satan, Lord of Darkness now believe?” Did he died for your sins?”

“Are you crazy?”

Marcus didn’t let the petty insult faze him. “The same faith that you instill in a wicked being without seeing him face to face, why can’t you instill that faith in the Most High above?”

He had the attention of the people and the barista now.

“We might have seen depictions of what the devil looks like, but he did not offer you eternal life. It is easier to believe in the devil because entertainment tells you to given that it’s there for a distraction. That’s why it’s hard for you to believe that a Higher Force exists. 

“Who do you think created nature? Man? Where do you think your talent comes from? What is that little blessing called? A miracle and the devil cannot bless you with one. What he does is lie to you and provide temporary relief to your living situations. Don’t let the wickedness of this world deceive you. Just as it is easy for you to believe that the devil exists, then, it is easy for you to believe that God does indeed exist. Now, if you excuse me, I have a coffee to purchase. Have a blessed day.”

The man stood daunted for a while coming to grip with what had just taken place. Maybe the Frenchman was right. Maybe he needed to reevaluate his perspective on life and have a little faith sometimes.

Image result for Hebrews 11:1

Image via Pinterest

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I really wanted to post a new story today. Although I have tons of new material, I am not ready to share them as yet. I found this one while going through a notebook. It was written last year, but I never got around to typing it up until now. I don’t write Christian Fiction so this was a pleasant surprise when I first scribbled down the words on paper and it takes place in a coffee shop. I look forward to writing more stories such as these. 

#amwriting ✍

Fall Again

Short Story #17
A Fall Romance

I apologize in advance for the story cover being better than the actual story. Please proceed with caution.

***

My Love,

I know we’ve been through a lot in the past two years and with us being separated for almost one, it brought me back to where I needed to be. I had the time to cleanse my system and re-purify my soul.

Dari, I know no one is perfect. No, not even I, but I’ve acted the hypocrite with you. For that, I apologize. I am writing this letter to make a promise to you that I am going to try as hard as I can for us this time. Also, it’s Fall.

The trees are shedding their old to make way for the new, the leaves sway, rushing against the many leaves on the floor, the wind blows a burst of fresh cold air, I can smell apple spice bread baking from Mrs. Darcy’s shop down the hill and I know it’s your favorite…You know how Fall makes me sentimental! We first met in the Fall after all! I was biking through the park enjoying God’s grandeur when I almost knocked over a man in uniform! We laughed about it, chatted a bit, and then we went our own way. I did not expect to see you again, but I did, the very next day, at the same spot and what were the odds that you were riding a bike? As leaves softly fell to the ground making a blanket around us, you presented me with a flower and asked me out and of course, my answer was yes.

It didn’t take long for us to confess the most powerful words in the world to each other and we were married by the next Fall.

I hope this letter finds you well and that you’re in good spirits, Dari, for I never want to take our love for granted again. We’ve wasted too much time during this separation. However, if you go back on your promise of waiting for me, I’ll understand.

As long as you’ll have me, I am yours for the long haul.

 

Yours,

Candice

Sergeant Darius reread the letter once again with a goofy grin on his face. You can fall in love twice when second chances won’t leave you alone and he was determined this time to make things work until the rest of their lives. He folded the letter and placed it in the jacket near his heart. He had work to do in winning back his wife’s heart and he knew just the place to start; after all, the bikes were parked in the garage for way too long.

WORDS: 428

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***I was leaning towards a sad story, but there’s just something romantic about Fall! I also admit that I had quite a few story ideas before landing on this one and sticking with it. I wanted to write the story based on a soldier falling in love again with his wife, but I ended up with this cheesy thing.

And Michael Jackson’s ‘Fall Again’ set the mood right. This beautiful song tells the story of my story that I wanted to tell… if that makes sense. 🙂

I wanna spend, time to live in
I wanna fall with you again
Like we did, when we first met
I wanna fall with you again

#amwriting ✍

Another Tattoo

Short Story #16

Whoa! I haven’t updated Short Story Sunday in a long time because I did not have the inspiration to do so. I still don’t have the inspiration to, but today’s short is an addition to the last short story I wrote call Tattoos and I’ll be free writing so forgive my grammatical errors and my French as well. 

Antonio Caster was wiping down the counter and humming along to an old Spanish song when the doorbell chimes signaling that he had a new customer. With a smile, he straightens his frame, ready to greet his fifth and probably final customer of the day. However, when the tall, bald-headed man with the piercing silver-gray eyes confidently walk into his tattoo parlor, Antonio lost his smile. This man was a regular client of his and a good tipper, but one night when he tattooed the name of a fallen hitman on the Frenchman’s back, he realized that Jean-Pierre Papin was more than just a regular client.

Jean-Pierre was tattooing the names of his fallen enemies on his lower back and this made Antonio wondered if the bad man had a mild case of amnesia.

He forces his best smile when the man approached the counter. “Bonjour. How can I help you today?”

“Another name,” Jean-Pierre impatiently flings a piece of paper on the counter.

Antonio picks it up and gasp. “Isn’t this the name of your girlfriend?”

Jean-Pierre darkly looks at him.

“Right on it,” Antonio said with less enthusiasm as he led the Frenchman to the back room. “Where would you like it?”

“Same place,”

He killed her! I can’t believe he actually killed her! Antonio panic inside. And now he wants to tattoo her name alongside his enemies. Oh, Marilyn! What have you done to deserve this!

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Jean-Pierre walked out of Antonio’s Ink an hour and a half later with a puzzled look on his face, his skin still stinging from the fresh ink. He did not understand why the man hesitated to ink Marilyn’s name on his skin. Was it because he was putting her name next to his enemies? He had no other choice in the matter, though.

When he returned to his Montmartre flat, freshly brewed coffee assaulted his senses causing him to gag. He hated coffee. “Do you mind?”

“Oh, you’re back!” a surprised feminine voice answered. “Désolé pour le café!

“I put up a lot for you because you’re lucky I like you a lot, Marilyn.”

WORDS: 354

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#amwriting ✍

Tattoos

Short Story #15

Tattoos tell stories of love, war, courage, pain, and faith. So when Marilyn discovered the tattoos on her boyfriend’s lower back as he lay on the bed motionlessly and shirtless, she smiles at the discovery and traces a curious finger over the ink. Jean-Pierre Papin flinches slightly at the contact which she dismissed as an automatic reflex.

The tattoos were names and she smiles thinking that they were perhaps names of friends or relatives as she counts the small cursive names: five in total.

“Pierre?” she called out.

The Frenchman grunts knowing what was coming next. “Hmm?”

“What are these names?”

“They’re the names of my enemies.”

She gasps and pulls her hand back as if burned by a wicked fire. “Why put those names there then?”

“They’ve done me wrong at some point in life.”

“But it doesn’t make any sense.”

Why do things always have to make sense to a woman? Jean thought before coldly confessing, “I killed them.”

A thick eerie silence blanketed the room leaving Marilyn immobilized.

WORDS: 172

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#amwriting ✍

‘My Chosen,’

Short Story #14

My new short story offering is inspired by The Mummy (the Tom Cruise one that is now playing). I did not sit down to plan it. I just wrote whatever came to mind (mainly for the dialogue) so I take the blame for all grammatical errors.

“Hallucinating? Vail, does it look like I’m hallucinating? There’s a beautiful woman walking towards us.” Sergeant Nick Morton was livid. “How do you not see her?”

Corporal Chris Vail sat still on top of the black stallion and cups his hands to his eyes. “Maybe you’re seeing a mirage.”

“What?” Nick couldn’t believe what he was hearing. “I am telling you that…” Suddenly, the desert and his best friend disappeared and Nick found himself in Ancient Egypt. The woman who stood before him wore a white regal dress, her arms decorated with multiple golden bracelets, her feet bare. With the sunlight against her back, she looked ethereal, but when she raised her hand to touch his face, he took note of the cracks in her painted fingernails.

But he was drawn to her fierce kohl-lined eyes which were boring into his soul given that she was intensely staring at him. “My chosen,” she breathlessly whispered against his parched lips. 

Nick was stupefied. “I’m your what?”

“My chosen,” she repeated, her cool hand caressing his jaw. “My love,” she closed the remaining space between them. “I would have ripped the kingdom to shreds if I had to just for you. You’re my chosen.”

The reality of the situation finally hits him and he suddenly felt unworthy in her presence. He did not have a title. He plundered ancient sites for timeless artifacts and sold them to the highest bidder. He was a thief and here this crazy woman was looking at him as if he was her king. “I cannot be your chosen.”

“But I chose you and that is enough.”

His lips were moving towards hers when something dawned on him. “Wait, what am I chosen for?”

The Egyptian princess coyly smiles. “Soon, my chosen, you’ll find out.” she pressed her lips against his and everything went black.

WORDS: 308

Image result for gif the mummy sofia boutella tom cruise kiss

#amwriting ✍

Unlikely Guest

Short Story #1

short story sunday

FINALLY! I can kick off what I’ve been putting off for the longest while due to procrastination and busy schedules. I’m kicking off Short Story Sunday with an old favorite of mine (it’s from 2011). It’s a football short featuring two of the world’s biggest ‘rivals’: Cristiano Ronaldo and Lionel Messi. Don’t expect stories every Sunday though, for I won’t be able to keep up. I am a rebel writer and I write when I get in the mood. I am not one of those writers who complete short stories in one go (according to the topic). The most I aim to provide this year is 20 tops. I know, selfish, but I can’t share everything on here.

I have a confession: it’s not 100% edited and I know this goes against all writing rules, but this one is the only exception.

Without further adieu… UNLIKELY GUEST.

Cristiano Ronaldo rolled his eyes in both disgust and frustration at the television which was running and re-running images of Lionel Messi. Messi in his pimped out burgundy velvet jacket; which by the way, Cristiano most definitely approved. That jacket was a winner’s jacket from the very moment it stepped in front of the flashing lights. Messi with his damn infectious boyish smile as he made his way to the stage and toward media hound puppy, Pele, who was putting on a show for the world to see him embracing and accepting the young player. Everybody knows Pele is mad about his name being strung in the same sentence with the gifted Argentine. Messi as he put his fingers then his hand on the golden ball.

Messi with his Ballon d’Or.

Yes. His!

Cristiano had nothing against Messi. No, not at all but he had plans for that Ballon d’Or. He had already written his acceptance speech – although Kaka had warned him about it. He had also planned to tease Messi with the golden award, by asking him if he want to touch what he missed out on, then hold it high above Messi’s head so the little twerp wouldn’t be able to reach it, much less, touch it. And then he, Cristiano would have sneered and grinned and spat,

“So how does it feel that you’ve come close but not quite to netting a golden hat trick, eh? Even Platini had it all wrong.”

And then he planned to laugh in the Argentine’s face and tell him …

Sounds from the screen brought him back to the present. Okay, so that was not the exact plan, but it sounded nice and arrogant and it made him feel better. A whole lot better. Besides, the ceremony was two nights ago. Coach told him not to attend because of the intense training in preparation against Malaga the next day. But Cristiano felt otherwise. He wanted to attend to show the world that he was not afraid of being second to Messi on the world stage, for at the end of the day, image was everything to Cristiano Ronaldo.

So he should have been there. Even if it was just for face time. He should have been sitting in the front row next to Messi or Xavi or heck, in the middle of the Barcelona buddies! See how they would have liked that. He should have been there to collect his FIFA Pro Award and not Zidane, who was basking in the glory – his glory – as if he had the right. He should have been …

This time a firm but hesitant rap on the door brought him back to the present once again. Who could it be at – he checked his watch – almost ten PM on this chilly Madrid night? It better not be Kaka, he thought as he picked himself up and lazily strolled to get the door in his Real Madrid sweatshirt and track pants. And it better not be Benzema coming through with an excuse to get help with his Spanish so he can pick up Latin women or Özil trying to …

“Leo?” Cristiano sputtered. He squinted. He blinked. He rubbed his eyes. He pinched himself. He was not hallucinating. Lionel Messi was standing on his door step with a goofy grin and a box in his hand. “W-What are you doing here?”

“I brought cake.” Messi gestured at the box in his hand with his chin.

“If you’re trying to be funny, it’s not gonna work. Everyone knows you can’t tell good jokes!”

Leo shrugged. “Aren’t you going to let me in?”

Cristiano contemplated the question. Why must he invite his rival into his house? Was this some kind of a joke? A trick perhaps? Maybe FC Barcelona sent Messi to secretly lure him away from his beloved Madrid? Whatever it was, this visit was going to be interesting. “Sure, come in.” Cristiano held the door ajar for the Argentine Crack, and then quickly scanned the abandoned street to see if anyone was camping out with cameras aimed at his house. If his teammates got word of this visit he will not live to see the end of it. He scowled at Messi’s parked SUV in the drive way and secured the door.

“What are you doing here?” I hate you. “You hate me!”

Messi tutted. “Oh really? I wonder who said that?” he rested the box on the newly imported Brazilian coffee table not even bothering to give the dwelling the look-over. That annoyed Cristiano. Leo started to open the box. “So, you bastard, you couldn’t be there to see me lift my third consecutive Ballon d’Or, eh?”

“Erm,” Cristiano walked back to the couch and sat down. There was a beer commercial running. “I had practice. And why would I want to see you lift it?”

Messi shrugged. “I would have let you touch it.”

“Really?” Cristiano looked at the box. Messi was beginning to lift something shiny, gold and round out of it and … “Is that what I think it is?”

Messi nodded. “Yes.”

Cristiano watched as the Argentine set the prestigious award on the coffee table. It looked as if it belonged. “Who knows you’re here?”

“No one,” Messi almost rolled his eyes. “I’m not a kid, Cris.”

“I didn’t say you …” Cristiano scooped the golden ball off the table. “It’s so beautiful. No scratch that. It’s gorgeous. What if I accidently drop it on the floor and break it?”

Messi snorted. “Don’t be a Ramos now!”

Cristiano laughed. When Real Madrid won the 2011 Copa del Rey, Ramos was so excited he let the thing fall under a moving bus. Mourinho was stark mad although Iker tried to convince him that Ramos was drunk.

Anyway …

“Maybe I’ll win it in 2012.”

Messi shrugged. “Maybe.”

“Hey, I don’t like that tone. What’s with that?”

“Lots of players are bringing their A game. We may not even be in the top three next year.”

“I don’t see anyone else trying to give us a run for the golden glory.”

“Do you not see the way Fabregas is playing? I wouldn’t write him off as a future Ballon d’Or winner. And Alexis got something going for him. He’s going to blow up one day.”

Cristiano finally set the award down and smiled at his rival. He was not bad at all. “Thanks. Three years straight I lost to you and here you are not trying to rub it in my face. I guess compared to me, you are a saint.”

Messi winced. “Please! Leave the name calling for Iker!”

They laughed. Okay, so Messi was a little funny, but Cristiano wasn’t going to say so. At least he got to handle what was going to be his next year. It’ll be his second. And maybe he’ll repay the unexpected visit. Messi stayed a little while longer. He declined offered drinks and treats. They talked about their family and girlfriends. When he finally escorted the Argentine to the door, Cristiano warned,

“Better not get too comfortable though. I’m still gonna kick your butt on the field.”

Messi looked back and grinned. “I expect you to, Cris. I expect you to.”

“Hala Madrid!” Cristiano shouted.

Messi answered triumphantly, “Visca el Barça!” as he made his way to his SUV.

End Note: Football fans are often torn over their favorite teams, especially the RM & Barça fans. I used RM’s CR and Barca’s Messi to show that it doesn’t matter which team you support, for its hard making friends and when you finally make good friends, they don’t support your club and it may tear the friendship apart all in the name of football. Don’t let that happen to your friendship.

Also, the last time I wrote this, Cristiano did in fact win the Ballon d’Or. This time around, Messi seem to be the favorite once again after a stellar season.

© Diana Tyler

Originally posted here on my football blog:

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