Running. Running. The earthy scent of the grass fills your nose, but you keep on running. You pass the ball, you run some more. Waiting. Waiting for the ball again. And you run again. You see it; the end. The frame. You run, even if your legs are screaming for you to stop. But you can't. Because this is life-or-death. And you take the shot. It curves. You pray to every deity that the ball goes in. And the screams deafen you. The ball went in. It's a goal. A goal.

Fun, yes? That's football for you. The euphoria of finally scoring a goal. Because even getting past the midfield and the defense is hard. But when you do get past it, you charge. The last line of defense, the goalkeeper, is your biggest enemy. When the GK is nervous, scoring a goal is easy. But when the GK is someone like Germany's Manuel Neuer (who won't even let you past the box, let alone the goal post), you have to be creative. You have to rely on your footwork. You have to read the GK.

But the thrill doesn't stop at the field. The thrill goes forth and infects everyone watching. From the bleachers, from the people watching from television sets, from people on the other side of the world, staying up at ungodly hours, streaming the game from their laptops and mobile devices. Emotions run high, and the game is under a blanket of passion. Screams and curses could be heard. You sincerely hope for a win by your team. 87 minutes in, you wish the score would remain at a draw. Because you'd rather take a draw than a loss.

For the people living on the other side of the world, sacrifice is almost always on their menu. And sacrifice always meant staying awake at two in the morning, streaming the game from their laptops or mobile devices. It was the only way they could keep up. They didn't want to go behind on the game. When a game like El Clasíco is on, one forgoes sleep. You want to see who has the better offense and defense. You want to see if Lionel Messi will get past the Real Madrid defenders with his knack for finding lapses, or if Cristiano Ronaldo will take the first goal with his fancy footwork and incredible speed. Or when the English Premier League is having one of the greatest games scheduled, and you're excited to see Oscar donning the blue uniform of Chelsea once more. And what of the Bundesliga? When Marco Reus, using his knowledge of Mario Götze's play, runs past him and takes the shot that propels Dortmund the lead. And you can see the unpredictability and genius of Jürgen Klopp through his coaching.

Transfer windows are both a fan's dream and nightmare. Sometimes, the players you love are the ones getting transferred or sold. Imagine the despair Chelsea fans went through when Frank Lampard was not renewing his contract with the Blues and went on to sign with Manchester City (myself included). Or the Madridistas' sadness when Özil was transferred from Real Madrid to Arsenal (again, myself included). Or the anger of some of the hardcore BVB fans when Mario Götze and Robert Lewandowski transferred from Dortmund to the rival team, Bayern München. But when something goes wrong, something good will replace it. The pain of losing one of your best players is still there. But you have new players to look forward to.

And in the midst of all this craziness, you find yourself feeling so at home with a team, considering them to be part of your family. Or you consider yourself part of their family. In any case, you're so emotionally-invested in the game.

The coin is tossed, the whistle blows, and the ball is kicked. The game starts and you lose yourself in the game all over again.

The darkness is seductive. It's always been calling you, beckoning you to come hither. There always was darkness inside you, caged and sleeping—waiting for the right moment to pounce. But you pay it no heed, because that's something you can always ignore. And you will never pay attention to it. You had no plans to.

You were held in the light by something. You had a lifeline and you'd do anything to keep it. You don't what you'd do if the line gets broken or worse, severed. You sincerely hope it doesn't, because you're not ready to let go—not just yet. You hold on, because that's what you know you can do best.

But Fate was a harsh goddess. She refused you your lifeline, breaking it in front of you and you can never fix it again. And then there was just so much anger. The darkness inside you was cackling in glee, then it breaks out of its cage. Suddenly, it grips your heart. It holds on to it and whispers in your ear about power. About what you can do with the darkness beside you. Because the darkness will always follow you. Hurt and defeated, you succumb to it, feeling a great surge of power come inside you as your last bit of humanity left.

For a time, you forgot who you once were. The darkness was a constant companion, and you found yourself destroying anything that reminded you of the light. Your guard is always up, never letting in anything or anyone take away that one thing that made you who you are: the shadows. But what they didn't know—what they will never know—is how much you still regret letting Fate take away your lifeline. You let yourself drown in memories, refusing to let even darkness get to it.

At some point in your life, there comes another piece of a puzzle that you have long forgotten. You forgot that even the darkness has ways to betray you. That even if you thought you had everything handled, you see that you never will. Because darkness has always been playing you, using you to keep everything in the black blanket. And one day, the darkness thought it best to let you fall. You fight it—because you always did fight everything that came in your way—until eventually, you get the light back.

But with it comes a price. You have lived far too long in the darkness. The light was suddenly too much for you to handle. But instead of going against it, you welcome it. You know it was time. And you smile because suddenly, your lifeline appears in front of you, basking in a silvery glow. You reach out and take it.

And then, you disappear.

This work of creative writing was inspired by Star Wars, particularly Anakin Skywalker. Star Wars is the work of George Lucas. No copyright infringement intended.