![]() Here they come now, twenty-two players in blank white uniforms pouring out of the locker room doors and onto the green, the sacred, moonlit green. ![]() The stadium lights flash dazzlingly on, and the sound of thunder is close behind as the crowds in the stands-who were not there a moment ago, who have always been there, who will always be there when the October lights are lit-leap to their feet, stomping and clapping and howling for the boys of fall, the heroes of the night. Two sets of hands are clapped, and the age-old cry to battle echoes through the night: Elle raises her hands, looking to Rona across the empty field. They walk with calm precision, ten and ten, taking their places in front of the empty stands. ![]() There is no sign of primal fury in the twenty girls who slip from the locker room onto the darkened gridiron. This, too, is part of the ritual this, too, is the herald of the endless October night. “ R!” scream the Ravens, and the Falcons are doing the same with their own name, and the locker room devolves into an almost primal storm of shrieking female voices. “That’s because every team is the home team here,” says Rona, and smiles, dropping Elle’s hand as she turns to her squad. “Let’s have a good clean game tonight,” says Elle. The team captains step forward, Elle in blue, Rona in red. Even Birdie’s whistle comes to a temporary end. Bit by bit, the chatter and arguments die. They line up like warriors preparing to take the battlefield, each facing another across the locker room. There is Alisa in Raven red, wearing a skirt that should have been retired two seasons ago. There is the much-scolded Birdie in Falcon blue, with gold glitter clinging to her cheeks like stardust. ![]() The Falcons, in blue and gold, and the Ravens, in red and rust. Every night is infinite.īit by bit, the preparations are completed: faces are painted, hair is styled, and squad divisions become clear as crystal, written proudly across the front of uniforms and detailed in the color of fabrics, cosmetics, ribbons tied to ponytails or braids. Every trial and triumph is unique, even when it’s shared-maybe especially when it’s shared, because then there are other mirrors for the moment to reflect against. The world makes the mistake of thinking that every night happens only once, but no two people live through the same hour, the same evening, the same season. There are locker rooms for the football players, of course: empty, echoing gray rooms lined with lockers and the memories of hot October nights that have no end. “Does this top make my breasts look big?” The girls of fall, too, when they choose to take the field. This is when promises are made and pledges are broken, and the boys of fall walk proudly into legend with their short-skirted heralds singing their praises every step of the way. The October air smells like bonfires and promises, and it’s always October for this game, for the big game. Cram twenty girls from opposing squads into one small space and tensions are going to flare. Alisa is trying to get her uniform to stay in place, counting more on safety pins and prayer than she probably should, and Birdie-true to her name-keeps whistling, which is probably going to get her slapped if she doesn’t stop soon. The locker room is always tense before a game. Series: The Tales of Gorlen Vizenfirthe.Series: From the Lost Travelers’ Tour Guide.People of Colo(u)r Destroy Science Fiction!.
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