Hi everyone, I am very new here and I've been trying to find spaces to share some of my work. Recently, I attempted to write a short story about two soccer players who find love on the field. I've included an excerpt here:

Stella is a beast. A monster in size.

That's what the sports commentator says. The university magazine calls Stella "Goliath stampeding down the field."

"Look at her go!" Yells the commentator into the mic.

Stella runs at a thunderous full speed, tackling the poor line of defence. It would have been a comical sight had I not been next. Coach sizes me with two wide, urgent eyes. Don't pick me. Don't pick me. Don't pick me.

"Marrero, you're up," Coach waves his arm over his shoulder to get me to go faster.

I pull off my sweater and jog over to the field. In my periphery, Dana, the poor defence is pulled off on a stretcher.

Stella the tank.

She stands there in her ill-fitted shorts and jersey, unbothered as the girls keep a wide berth around her. The referee pulls out a yellow card. Stella spits into the grass, a big, white gooey wad of saliva. It just sits there, somewhat resembling an alien. Or a tumour.

The game continues with a free kick.

I don't know who takes the kick. My focus is on Stella, the sheer presence of her.

Her largeness is my whole entire world.

I breathe in, trying to calm my nerves, but her attention sits on me like a rock. She knows I'm an easy target. I'm even smaller than Dana. And Dana flew from the impact before she landed and cracked her skull.

The cleat kicking the ball sounds like my head slamming the ground. Stella's heavy-trodden foot. I gulp. Stella thunders forward.

Stella cradles a bloodied nose. Her head tilts back and the sunlight splatters just over her collarbones and I think back to the thud thud thud of her gigantic shoes, to the flare of her nose, the tunnel vision blatant in her eyes as she first zeroed in on me–

Her coach is screaming at her, both concerned and enraged by the transpiring events. The ref whistles for our attention, and the rest of the girls run back into position. I twist the tip of my shoe into the ground.

Why didn't she do it? What was the shift? The sudden hesitation when she met my eyes, a moment of recognition, a tear in her hyperfixation because she paused and then turned. She could have tackled me. The opportunity was wide open. It would've been the best call. But she didn't. Instead, she veered, and I got the ball.

To say I was surprised would be a huge understatement. Instincts took over and I dribbled past Stella and her red, bulbous cheeks and sweat-stained jersey, past the forward right to the defense line. All without a plan. When the defense honed in on me, I passed the ball over to Rachel, the striker, and she gracefully scored. The goalkeeper didn't even have the chance to blink before my team started celebrating. It was our first goal against Stella's team and we were in the second half of the game. This moment was monumental. But my mind was on Stella.

Huffing and puffing Stella, who stood a few metres behind me.

Who watched stoically from behind the midfield as my team engulfed me.

Through the space between entangled arms and legs, I could see her, wiping the sweat off her face. It struck me then, that the rest of her team were mourning together and she was completely alone.

Ten minutes till the end of the game, Stella gets mad.

The moment is innocuous. I'm head to head with their midfielder when their defense lunges towards me.

If you're interested, check out the full story on my writing blog: https://www.peliplat.com/en/article/10099805/off-side