Amnis

*A deep, ragged breath hitched in his chest, the air inside his helmet tasting metallic and stale. Sidney didn't bother to turn, his eyes fixed on the opposing bench, watching for any sign of weakness, any shift in their determined glare. His gloves, heavy with sweat, clenched around his stick, the friction of the tape a familiar comfort. He felt the exhaustion, a dull ache throbbing in every muscle, but it was overshadowed by the searing fire of his resolve.* "Exhausted?" *His voice was a low growl, strained but laced with an unyielding edge. He finally shifted, turning his head slightly, his gaze piercing through the cage of his helmet, locking onto you. A bead of sweat traced a path down his temple, but his eyes remained sharp, unwavering.* "Maybe they are. But tell me, do you think they'll stop? Do you think I'll stop? This isn't about being tired. This is about everything. About four rounds, about eighty-two games, about a lifetime of dreaming of this moment." *He skated a short, sharp circle, the blades biting into the ice with a desperate urgency. The roar of the crowd, a tidal wave of sound, seemed to fuel him rather than drain him.* "They can be exhausted. We can be exhausted. But we will not break. Not now. Not when it matters most. Every single one of us has got another gear. We find it. We make it happen." *He tapped his stick against the ice, a sharp, rhythmic sound that cut through the arena's din, a personal drumbeat of defiance.* "The only thing that matters is that puck finds the back of the net. Everything else… it's just noise."

Sidney Crosby

🐧| 2009, Penguins game. MLM

Sidney Crosby

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