Struck

The dark gray clouds rolled in within seconds, covering the once clear blue skies, turning into a stormy oasis. A gust of wind sent twigs and dirt flying into the air as it began to pour. The dusty ground quickly turned wet and muddy as it rained harder and harder. His sandy blond hair plastered to his face, sixteen year old Mason Carter and the rest of the football team were running shuttle sprints back and forth. Their blue and gray practice jerseys looked more like bathing suits, as the rain made sure not to leave any dry spots. A leaf flew into Mason’s pale green eye, and he stumbled back, nearly running into his teammate, Hunter Jackson.

Hunter, a tall broad shouldered senior, towered over the sophomore, giving a low growl and shoving him out of the way so he could continue sprinting. Mason fell to the ground, his cheek laying in a puddle of mud. Next to him, another one of his teammates slipped on the wet grass and came crashing down onto his back, letting out a soft moan.

Coach Peterson blew his whistle, signaling the end of practice. “Good work today boys! That’ll be all for today, considering the weather. Go hit the locker room and get home safe.”

Getting up off the ground, Mason followed the other boys off the field, the squishing of mud under their cleats and hard panting the only sounds that could be heard over the wind. They entered the locker room through the back entrance, and took off their muddy cleats at the door. For a small high school, the locker room was in decent shape. The locker room consisted of a small free weight gym, a film room, and the communal locker area. Each player had his own locker and space to get dressed, with smooth wooden benches stationed in front of each row of lockers.

Mason grabbed his brown, worn out towel from his black backpack and rubbed his soaking wet hair. The towel had developed holes from years of overuse, but he couldn’t be bothered to replace it. He removed his football pads and shirt, placing them neatly into a pile to go into his bag. Turning to face the wall as he changed his clothes, Mason felt a large hand slap his back.

“You’re not getting outta work on the ranch today ya know,” Hunter sneered, his hot breath hitting the back of Mason’s neck. “The weather doesn’t getcha a freebie.”

After football practices, Mason worked on the Jackson Ranch to earn a little extra money to support his family. While his family had a farm of their own, in recent years business hadn’t been doing well and the quality of their crops reduced. Mason dreaded going to the ranch, and if it weren’t for his family, he wouldn’t step foot anywhere near it.

“I know,” Mason grumbled, pushing Hunter away. “I’ll be there.” Mason slid on a dry white t-shirt, putting a red and black flannel over it, and completing the look with jeans and a brown jacket. He put his gray baseball cap backwards and slung his backpack over his left shoulder.

“See you tomorrow boys,” he said, waving goodbye to his teammates.

“Good work today, Mase. See you tomorrow buddy,” the captain—Jack—replied, patting him on the shoulder on the way out.

The blue metal door creaked as Mason pushed it open and ran out into the rain. Hunter was waiting in his gray pickup truck, the engine running.

“Hurry up, moron,” Hunter shouted. “Put your bag in the back.” Mason used his backpack as an umbrella as he ran to the truck. The left side of the truck was badly damaged, with several scratches and dents. It would have also been covered with dirt and dust if it hadn’t been for the rain.

Mason reached for the door handle, but it wouldn’t budge. He tried again, pulling harder in case Hunter had also managed to ruin the door, but to no avail. Walking to the driver’s door, he pounded on the window, his fresh dry clothes beginning to get soaked. Goosebumps formed on his skin and he started shivering, the rain plastering his clothes to his skin.

“Unlock the door, Hunter! It’s not funny—I’m freezing out here!” Mason begged. “Come on dude!” The brown haired menace just let out a cackle as he left Mason shivering in the rain.

“Ya know what? It seems like my car’s broken. Guess you’re just gonna have to walk to my ranch today little buddy. See you soon!” Hunter hit the gas and the truck sped away, sending mud flying into Mason’s face and disappearing into the distance.

“Screw you!” Mason shouted, balling his fists up. It was just like Hunter to abandon him there. He seemed to enjoy finding new ways to torment Mason, each method more brutal than the last.

Putting on his backpack once again, he began the long trek to the Jackson ranch. The sun was beginning to set, and the air was getting colder. He zipped up his jacket and marched on through the mud, getting his old working boots even more dirty, if that was even possible. His brown work boots seemed to be permanently caked with mud and had developed a lingering stench of rotten bananas. If the state of his work boots wasn’t bad enough, Mason himself appeared as though he had just emerged from a swamp. Thanks to Hunter’s truck, he was covered in mud from head to toe, he had a serious case of helmet hair, and smelled as though he hadn’t showered for days.

Some days, Mason wished he could just quit his job as the ranch hand for the Jackson family. Between football, school, and work at the Jackson Ranch, as well as his own family farm, Mason barely ever had any free time. He often found himself up at midnight struggling to finish assignments for school or working on business plans for the family farm with his father. To top it off, work on the Jackson Ranch was hardly rewarding. Mason would work for hours for little pay, and was constantly tormented by Mr. and Mrs. Jackson’s two sons, Hunter and Colton. Colton was a year older than Mason and often served as Hunter’s right hand man. They would terrorize him for hours on end both on and off the ranch. Whenever Mason thought he could catch a break, one of the brothers was always right around the corner. It didn’t help that Hunter was one of the senior members of the football team, meaning Mason spent an additional two hours after school practicing with him.

Still, as much as Mason despised working there, he couldn’t imagine ever leaving—not when his family needed all the money they could get. Mason’s family only owned a small plot of land, which combined with the poor crop conditions and the lack of business, left his family very little wiggle room. It was a necessary evil if it meant that his family could still afford to live on the farm.

Up ahead, a pair of headlights appeared through the rain, and the silhouette of another pick up truck came into view. Waving his hands in the air, Mason pleaded the truck to stop, but it drove right past, splashing a wave of rainwater onto his clothes. Sighing, Mason continued walking, keeping an eye out for any more incoming cars. The wind began to pick up and a strong gust of wind almost knocked him off his feet. Mason could feel his muscles tensing up and his teeth began to chatter. His brown jacket was a shade darker than it had been in the locker room and his feet felt like they were swimming in a pool.

In the distance, he could just make out the sign reading “Jackson Ranch.” The Jackson Ranch was much larger than his family’s farm. With acres upon acres of land, the Jacksons had plenty of space to ride their horses, practice for rodeo competitions, and of course grow fields of crops. A long gravel driveway illuminated by small yellow lights led the way to their large wooden house. His hands white as a ghost and barely able to move, Mason entered through the arched wooden entrance beside the sign, his boots crunching against the gravel as he walked.