Zahra Ajjaward, Grade 8
He walked out onto the battlefield to accomplish the set task. The battle for triumph was nail-biting. The supporters had lost all of their optimism, they had already given up on him. Why? Because he was the weakest, most unworthy battler. But he was their only hope. If he didn't succeed now, there will be no turning back, his life will be full of shame and frustration. He dragged the piece of wood behind him, his head and heart pounding with anxiety and fear. He could already hear the wailing of the onlookers. But his team had given him so much inspiration, he had to do this. For them.
He took his position and prepared for the final round, to him, this could mean the difference between life and death. He stood, focusing only on winning this, bracing for impact. Then it happened, the distinctive round form flew in his direction, time had seemed to go slowly as he held up the block of shaped wood and aimed carefully, it was now or never. He swung with all his might, the undeniable crack filled his ears, as well as the roar from the onlookers. Adrenalin pumped through his veins creating a havoc inside his body.
For a moment he froze, only to realise that the object was now charging away from him, out of the reach of the enemies as they thrived and struggled to prevent it from going further, to prevent him from his conquest. Then he ran. As fast and as hard as he could. He had one time to prove himself, one time to show them what he could do, and show them he did.
He abruptly stopped and felt his heart swell with pride. Everyone went quiet in shock and realisation, he might have been unstable and weak at first, but now, he had done it. The onlookers went wild as they screamed and cheered. He removed his helmet, he had finally done it. The victory belonged to him. His team, the only people who had full hope and encouraged him to do his best, ran out onto the Sydney Cricket Ground to congratulate him. They swarmed around him like bees. They had won. They ICC World Cup was theirs to hold.