Take Me Out to The Ball Game...

Kayla's breath frosted in the crisp February air. The sun was only now peaking out above the mountains to drive away the morning gloom. Pink clouds scuttled across a bruised purple sky, streaked with gold, and frosted dewdrops glittered like diamonds in the sunlight. It was colder by the diamond, shadowed by buildings and evergreens. A shitty place to put a baseball field if truth be told, almost like an afterthought. It wasn't hard to spot the row of boarded up windows in the distance, unfortunate victims of a few too many foul balls.

That was fine by her. Beata had never felt like a welcoming place — with iron-wrought fences and an old brick facade, it felt more like an old-school prison. But with pink streamers strung up all around the place, and love-drunk idiots running through the halls trying to snatch away some paper hearts, it had become a nightmare. She couldn't stand to be in the place for long. Just looking at all the colors, the stalls, the stomach-churning PDAs, it made her want to puke. This was one of the only places she could get away from that. Even in the forest there were couples everywhere, carving their initials out on trees or just trying to get some privacy. She'd never felt so trapped and suffocated than she did when surrounded by so much fucking pink.

A sigh. Deep breaths, deep breaths. Keep calm. Concentrate. That's what she kept telling herself, her mantra, but she was too pissed off to think straight right now. Not with so much on her mind. Kayla pulled her cap back and tapped her bat against the plate. Fuck 'em. Just concentrate.

She was staring down a dinky old pitching machine; a long tube standing on a tripod, with a motor that whirred loud enough that the whole state could probably hear. Without anybody to pitch to her, it was all she had unless she wanted to play catch with herself. A depressing notion, if ever there was one. Her sister would've thrown to her if she'd asked, but Lain was hundreds of miles away and out of reach.

Oh well. This piece of shit leafblower-on-legs would have to do, if it'd ever fire. She knew she'd set it up right this time, but the stupid thing hadn't gone off in...

POMF. Right on cue, just as she was lowering her bat. Five ounces of white leather stretched over rubber, streaking towards her at eighty miles per hour. Blue electricity flared all around her, like fire, and she swung.

"OW!"

Strike. There was a sharp pang that shot up her wrist and to her shoulder, and Kayla let the bat fall into the dust, its handle smoldering from her electric touch. The ball bounced to her feet as she stepped back, nursing her hand. She gave it an indignant kick back at the legs of the tripod when it shot another ball, careening straight at her. She ducked aside and it whizzed past her head, slamming into the wooden planks behind her.

"Fuck you, asshole," she hissed under her breath. It was already starting to bruise where it'd hit her.

The pitching machine did not respond.