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The perfect serenity of the scene relaxed Ashe in a way that no other thing could, happily without compromising her alertness and observance. She could feel every blade of emerald grass beneath her, pressing against her flannel shirt and jeans and probably creating an interesting pattern on her pale back.
Every perfect moment must end, however, or else there would be nothing to compare the perfection of the previous moment with. The ending to this perfect moment was the vexatious, but necessary, alarm on Ashe’s watch to remind her to get cracking. If Ashe were to eliminate the alarm, she would never leave the tranquil field, missing the daily ball game and possibly even supper. Responding as fast as she could was of the utmost importance for a reminder-alarm-- if she gave herself even two seconds of extra time to stay, the whole alarm system could be compromised. A little leniency every time creates a lot of leniency and eventually all of the alarm system’s effectiveness would be lost. It was a dramatic concept, but it worked. Ashe stood up quickly, and paused for 7 seconds to let the subsequent head rush clear before bolting towards the nearby conifer tree line on the outskirts of the fields. She ran down the pleasant hill on the edge the field, white and green sneakers getting soaked through to her mid-calf mismatched socks.
At the edge of the field lay an obviously historic (excluding the lilac paint color) two-story farm house. The house had a long and winding gravel drive, presumably going to the unseen road behind of the thicket of pines of the front yard. Ashe decreased her speed a slow jog as she approached the gravel, until she came to a brisk walk for the descent. Her 60% Dark Chocolate colored hair was in the usual single plait, but after the light jog, little strands of hair found their normal homes outside of the braid to produced a moderately mussed appearance. As Ashe reached the bottom of the drive, she turned right onto a dusty paved road toward a group of boys milling around an open field, similar to the one that Ashe had just left.
“Hey! Y’all almost ready?” Ashe questioned an taller blonde boy, employing only the slightest country accent.
A much thicker accent replied, this time coming from a well-built brown haired boy, “Kel’s here, but yer the onlee girls, as always--”
“Which is good your you, because if there were more girls your team’d be toast,” Ashe interjected.“And,” the boy continued grinning and rolling his eyes, “Preston has just gone to get the ball, he forgot it like he forgets his head on most dees.” They both chuckled good naturedly, along with a few others who had drifted over to ask where the ball was. A boy pointed to the bottom of the wooded ridge on the opposite side of the road to a plum shaped boy with a glove encompassing one pudgy hand and a battered baseball clutched in the other. As he drew closer, people could see his red face and hear his mumbled apologies as he approached and slowed.