Fantasy Field

Blueberry shaded skies were held together by odd shaped cotton balls. If I could, I would give the sun a hug for shining so spectacularly upon the green field in front of me. My dreaded soul has always been eased by the grace of nature. It seems to be my only friend in this dull, cruel world. My head has never been screwed on right. I know this for a fact. All the other humans out there are far too similar. Their brains work connectively. Conversations never seem to roll easy with me. I always say something horribly out of the ordinary. I’ve been tested numerous times for schizophrenia and related mental problems. All of which always have come back negative. The doctors have used many methods and tactics to try and place a medical name on this condition they believe I have. I’m coherent and alert. I’m three levels above my reading grade level and gracefully am able to solve high school math equations despite being in fifth grade. On all of those notes I seem quite average- above average at that. The only off thing about me is I am able to tap into what I believe to be an alternative universe. Its too real to just be my young 10 year old imagination, but too surreal to be labeled as ordinary. Too many times I’ve assured everyone that the things I see are truly there, but my “visions” are never seen by anyone else. They all make sure I know it too. My face always ends up smothered in the dirt or hand painted blue and black by my opponent. What’s wrong with me? I desperately want to fit in even to the smallest extent. 

Well, today might be my day. I’ve been practicing religiously for the neighborhood baseball game. My hands are chapped an calloused due to the hours spent whacking my bat in mid-air. The teams are chosen randomly, so any and all can join. Naturally, I signed up with relief in knowing there were no biased picks. 

I arrive early to the field ready to make my mark and finally win the approval of my neighborhood schoolmates. Laughter and pointing followed by humorous glances bombard me. 

“Hey mate! Glad you showed up and good thing you’re wearing a helmet. You’ll need it after the game!” Ah yes, another threat from my biggest fan, Robbie. We jump right into the game as soon as three o'clock hits. “Riley! You’re the lucky number one!” My name is announced first, of course. Even the adults like to pick on me it seems. I inhale a nice bubble of oxygen and confidently strut towards the base. I clank my bat against my new cleats- I’ve seen all the great ballers do that, so it must be good luck. 

“Proud of you bud! Acknowledgement of failure is the first step to success!” What a cheap blow, but never mind Rob. I got this. I align my bat as best as I can to the pitchers line of throw. It feels right. I feel good. Breathe in, breathe out. Focus on the ball, but not too hard. The bald man with a sleek mustache blows his silver whistle. The pitcher smirks wickedly while slinging his arm back sending the ball flying. I hardly have time to blink. My arms instruct the bat back and forward perfectly. “Strike!” I miss. Oinks and kissy sounds fill the field. “Alright that’s enough!” Mustache Mac yelps. That’s okay. Babe Ruth missed hundreds of swings he took. I still have two left. 

The wicked pitcher winks at me while once again flinging the ball toward me. “Strike 2!” Unfair! I was caught off guard by the pitchers low blow. “That dirt islooking like it could use a date with a mental loser right about now!” Perfect. I attempt to do something that will finally win me a spot in a normal social circle. Instead I fuel the reject label even more. Words of hate hit my body like spitballs. “Moron! Chump! Loser!” All true. 

“Bud, can you save us some energy and assault yourself with that bat?” Howling of cackles replace the warmth of the summer air. My head feels funny. A blazing rage charges inside of me intense enough to power all of hell itself. Streaks of color flash intensely before me. I will show them. Let me show them. 

I didn’t know or see the pitcher toss the ball at me, but I felt its force connect with my bat thoroughly. 

“Oh..my..god.” With my eyes still closed tight I had only my ears to give me a sense of what just happened. Gasps and chokes swirled around me. 

Finally. I was having another huge episode. This time I wasn’t the only one who could see it. The blueberry sky transformed into a galaxy-infested atmosphere. Sharp colors of lavenders and lemon spat into the heavens. Large monstrous pirate ships floated on strips of dazzling moon lakes. Species and organisms twirled and trod atop diamond mountain tops. Hairy phantoms molded with orange pinecones and ruby red rocks sat meditating on translucent scaled star whales. I levitated from the purple-coated clouds below me. My body was greeted by a gargantuan entity coated with flowers of fuchsia pink of which all bloomed out of a great big teeming coral reef. 

“We will show them,” the entity whispered delicately. 

I did not smile. I did not boast or screech, “I told you so!” I simply glanced beyond the baseball field towards the graceful hills now being kissed by the sun. No one said a word. No one looked at anyone else. Some sat down on the ground coddling their knees closely to their chests. Others stood there looking blankly into the nothingness. 

Not a soul could explain what happened on that baseball field that day. Each person reacted the same way when questioned about the incident: they didn’t. No one could comprehend the irrational alien like event. Let’s just say I was never called another name nor touched harshly by another human. 

Ever since that evening, no one has returned to the baseball field.