Flash Fiction. Pitch. 

A perspiring can of Redbull, sugar free, and a hot dog, drenched in mustard and with very little sausage 

She brushed the crumbs from her flannel shirt and felt the fluttering of butterflies in her chest, as she sat on the stadium seat and imagined the game that she would be playing in tomorrow. Only one more sleep and she would be on this very pitch in front of her.

Excitement turned to apprehension, as she thought of Clara. Clara was both her opponent and girlfriend. 


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