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Grif

I barreled down the ice after that Royals forward. She was determined to score.

Not tonight, Royals. Not tonight.

It would help if I felt on top of it. I’d thought that having a little rest while in the box would do it. But I still felt shitty. Probably from all the cake we’d had for Dean’s birthday. I’d been craving sweets even more than usual, so I indulged and ate too much.

Though I’d felt tired and sluggish all day.

Maybe I’d caught a cold?

As I caught up to the forward, I moved to knock her down and steal the puck. I stumbled. An elbow from one of the other Royals clocked me. I elbowed him back, pushing him away, trying to regain my balance.

And the puck.

Clark got it and passed it to Carlos. I got into position, ready for one of them to pass it to me. I stumbled again.

What was wrong with me? I felt weird… heavy.

Coach should call a line change soon. I’d have a sports drink and a hydrogel. Yeah. That would help me shake off this sluggishness.

Maybe during intermission, I could get some pickles or a banana.

Carlos passed the puck to me, but I no longer had a line to the goal. The strange feeling washed over me again, and my hand shook. Panic flooded me. I shot the puck back to Carlos, who was in a better position to score. My stick fell out of my hand and I slumped to the ice.

I heard a crack and everything went black.