Mister Invincible

BY : Lazvernius
Category: Individual Celebrities > Rugby
Dragon prints: 936
Disclaimer: This is a work of fiction. I do not know the people I am writing about in this fanfiction. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.

Disclaimer: This fic is about REAL PEOPLE! i dont own em. (if i did then they would probably win more games) these real people play for the Wellington Lions in the NPC and trust me, they rock.

The ball spins towards me. I expect to hear a crack as sopping synthetic leather slams into my palms. The crack however is muted out by a far louder thud. After checking to make sure I have the ball and am not about to be flattened I look in the vague direction of the noise. What I see stops me dead. Davey is lying spread-eagled on the ground.
Davey is more formally known as David Holwell, and he’s our first five-eighth. I sigh, Davey has a history of head injuries without a single concussion, and he calls himself Mister Invincible. The rest of the team joke that he’s just too brainless to be concussed.
The referee blows his whistle, and the medics run onto the field. I wonder darkly why I am so worried? Davey usually gets over headshots pretty quickly. Maybe it’s the greyness that seems to shroud his face, or maybe I’m just paranoid
Paul Stienmetz wanders over to the team huddle and stands by me. The entire team is trying to see what’s happening to Davey, without actually having to look at him.
“I hate those bastards!” Paul glares at the opposition. “They disgust me.”
It gets worse. The touch judge comes out to talk to the referee and they call over that young lock, tall and non-descript. He starts spluttering and gesturing wildly until the ref grabs his arm and begins to pull off the strapping. A lump of metal falls to the grass from out of the tape. Paul sways on the spot and grabs my shoulder. I just squeeze my eyes shut. I don’t want to see that monster walk off. What he’s done is just too hard to comprehend.
“I’d love to get my hands on that little shit.” A voice in the group burbles pure hatred “see how he like being hit so hard you can’t hit back!” there is a general murmur of ascension, although nobody else says a word.
I open my eyes to look at Davey. The St. John are rolling him over to put him on a stretcher. And unnatural hush falls on the team as we see Davy's wound. Grey stuff oozes from a gash near his temple, blood trickles from his nose and ears. I slam my eyes shut again as my head spins. It is all too much for Paul; he falls to his knees and throws up over the touchline.
I wonder how we are meant to finish the game. The team is all at least a little sick, scared and angry. As the medic cart whizzes off the field I say to myself “Okay, lets get going; we better win this so we have something to tell Davey tomorrow, when he whines about losing his no concussion record.”
During the rest of the game – a sloppy, weak affair – that’s all I think about; how the game is for Davey, and how wed talk about how bad he looked and he’d laugh at us for being so worried.

I’m almost happy at the end of the game. We won and I scored a try. The team sprawls around the locker room when Coach walks in, he looks pale.
“Boys,” he says softly “I’m so sorry to have to tell you this-” Coach’s voice cracks “but David is dead.”
The world spins. I feel as if I have been kicked in the guts. This isn’t possible. Around me, the shock is equalled; Paul throws up again, this time down his front, all over his jersey. The same sort of jersey David died in. tears blur my vision of the locker belonging to our intelligent, impulsive first five. He will never sit in it again.
His eyes gleam no longer. His heart beats no longer.
Mister Invincible no longer.


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