"Home. Run"

Done in Procreate.

4500 x 5000 px.

The sun would appear on the horizon soon. "Am I running out of time?" Ruth knew she still had a long way home, but she needed to catch her breath. She closed her eyes and prepared herself for the first sunbeam to reach her face. But the feeling that time was running out for her again wouldn't go away.

"Babe... She's out." Her mother's voice remained in her head. Ruth tightened her grip on the bat. With a quick movement of her left hand she adjusted her glasses. "There is no time to waste. Straight home. Run."

The sound of her footsteps hitting the puddles was reminiscent of the metronome marking the beat. Ruth felt her legs go numb, but a relieved smile crossed her face for a moment as she left the old bullpen behind. She was almost there. It was right there, in the field at the end of the street, where her father had taught her to bat.

"Not bad, Ruth. I would have preferred it if you had been the one to throw the ball, but I guess there can only be one strong hand in the family."

Back then his laughter didn't scare her. Ruth kept hitting because she thought it made him happy. But eventually he stopped coming down to practice with her. She didn't stop hitting, though.

The last time he showed up at the baseball field was a couple of weeks ago and he was completely drunk. Ruth welcomed him with a shy smile, but was petrified when a bottle grazed her cheek before shattering against the fence.

"Strike one," was all he said, staring at her.

After a few seconds that seemed like an eternity to Ruth, he began to laugh like a madman as he headed for home. Ruth fell to her knees as tears welled up in her eyes.

When she got home that night, her father had already left. Her mother was in a corner of the kitchen.

"I should have run after him."

Ruth lay next to her mother as they waited for the sound of the ambulance to break the silence in which the house had fallen.

"Strike Two."

But today she was ready. She stopped by the front door and waited to recover her breath one more time. The door was ajar and she could hear him apologize, again. Ruth raised the bat as she stepped through the door. Now it was he who was petrified.

"Home run," she said.

Art by Albert Soloviev. Written by Alex Valravn.