Built For Almost

The morning light spilled across the wooden floor like it had something to say.

It was early-too early for sound, too early for movement. The house held its breath as he laced his shoes, slow and methodical, like tying them any faster might break something he couldn't fix.

Outside, the sky was the color of bruises that hadn't formed yet.
He liked it that way.
That strange in-between when the world hadn't quite begun, and everything still felt possible.

Neil Alister jogged in silence. The cold air bit at his lungs, but he welcomed it. Pain, when expected, felt almost like proof of life. Each footfall echoed against the pavement like a quiet metronome: you're still here, you're still here, you're still here.

He didn't see it coming.
Not yet.

Because some stories don't begin with the fall.
They begin with the illusion of strength-
the kind that hums beneath your skin,
just before it leaves you.

...

There were mornings his legs moved before he did.
Muscle memory. Or maybe something deeper-like the body had its own will, its own ghosts. It remembered every sprint, every fall, every quiet moment before a whistle.

He used to believe that motion could save him.
That if he ran hard enough, fast enough, the noise in his head would blur into silence.
But it never did.

...

In the locker room, the tiles were always cold. There was comfort in that - the kind that came from routine. The slam of metal lockers. The low hum of fluorescent lights.
He sat there for a moment longer than usual. Not tired. Just...
Trying to hold on to the stillness.

There was a photo taped inside his locker door.
A younger version of himself, no older than eleven. Holding a medal in his hands, smiling like the world hadn't yet taught him how to be careful.

Neil touched the edge of the photo, thumb brushing the worn crease down the middle.
He never told anyone, but sometimes he talked to that boy.
Not out loud. Just in the spaces between thoughts.

"What would you think of me now?"
"Would you still want this? Would you be proud of me?"

The door creaked open behind him.
The coach's voice, low and unreadable:
"You good, Neil?"

He nodded. A lie, gentle and automatic.
"Yeah. I'm good, just a bit... stressed."

The coach stood in the doorway for a second longer than usual. Not speaking. Just looking. His eyes scanned the boy like he was a puzzle half-solved.

"You've been moving slower lately," he said finally, not as an accusation, but not without weight.
"Something going on?"

The boy shrugged, reaching for his socks. "Just sore, I guess. Long week."

Coach Langley stepped into the room, the heavy door hissing shut behind him.
"You've had long weeks before."

He didn't answer. He couldn't. Not yet. Because what could he say?
Sometimes it burns when I push off the line.
Sometimes my knee locks like a door that forgot how to open.
Sometimes I'm afraid it's already over and no one's told me yet.

The old man leaned against the bench across from him with his arms folded.

"You know I've seen a lot of kids come through here," he said.
"Some of them had raw talent. Some of them had drive. Very few had both."

A pause. Weighted. Deliberate.

"You do."

The words hung in the air like a lifeline - or a curse.

He looked up at him then, searching his face for any sign of doubt. But Coach wasn't a man who gave away much. The lines around his eyes were more from wind and early mornings than from smiling.

"I'm fine." Neil said again, quieter this time. He didn't know who he was trying to convince. Probably, himself, which didn't come easily to him. He was on the best team in the area, he played proudly for Black Hollow, so why did he have so much fear inside of him? Why and what was he so afraid of?

The coach nodded, but it wasn't a nod of agreement.
More like acknowledgment. Like he'd seen this pattern before.
Talent. Silence. Collapse.

He pushed off the bench and stood.

"Don't lie to yourself longer than you have to," he said as he reached the door.
"I don't know what's going on with you and I hope that when you're ready you'll tell us, your team. We're counting on you.."

And then he was gone.

The boy sat there, staring at the closed door.
He could feel the tightness again.
Just a whisper. Just a flicker.
But he knew.

The body always knew first.
The body was always faster than mind.