|Copyright -Mary Shipman|
He felt butterflies in his stomach as the stacked houses of the old Favela came into view. Eyes bored into his back as he walked through the gates.
Memories from the past came up as he saw people congregate in the streets laughing and yelling. The children were playing in the soccer field of dirt and stone where he learnt his skills.
He turned into the narrow street and its stench of raw sewage and fried food. The crumbling apartments block where his family stayed, housing rooms with broken walls and occasional rodents. Soccer had liberated his family from penury.
Written for Friday Fictioneers. Word Count : 100
I was going to take a break too, just like our fearless leader, but then this is Soccer World Cup time. Which presents a perfect opportunity to pay a tribute to all those wonderful soccer stars who came from the FavelasAnd this is probably the best World Cup song of all time.