Ball park boys, the

It didn't matter that blood was coming from our sliding arms and hands. We had played on much rougher infields before. We executed our much practiced method of pop-up sliding when stealing a base. We would never turn to look for a ball, or in this situation people coming after us. It didn't matter, we were on our feet racing down the long driveway. Our feet were barely touching the ground and when we reached the railroad tracks we only went faster. We were racing towards home, towards safety. We were not going to stop until we were at the Ball Park, or home base. That was all that mattered now. We would be safe there, we would be home.