Imaginative Writing

Scott Liddle Imaginative Writing S4 English

I awoke with someone shouting up to the window. I got out of bed and looked out to down below where I could see Wullie and Rab. I glanced round to the clock and realised I had slept in on the day of the big game. Rab shouted up that they would meet me on the bus.

I opened my wardrobe and pulled out the first tracksuit I could find. It looked relatively clean, so I ran downstairs, getting dressed as I went. I bolted through to the kitchen, tripping over my black Labrador, Novo, who seemed to be trying to get in my way, and I put two slices of bread in the toaster. I grabbed my favourite pair of shoes, a pair of Henri Lloyd trainers which were starting to rip around the seams. They had started off white, but were now turning a dingy shade of grey, showing their age. I prematurely grabbed my toast from the toaster, before it had even started to brown, burning my hand in the process. I picked up my phone and wallet off the counter and grabbed my ticket, which I had pinned to the notice board for the last two weeks, so everybody who came into the kitchen would notice I had a front row ticket to the Cup Final. As I ran to the back door, fumbling with my keys to try and opened the door, I glanced in the mirror. I looked an absolute mess – My hair was all over the place, having had no time to gel it, my head was through the sleeve of my Rangers shirt, and I had a black eye; a reminder of the brawl outside Guru Nightclub the night before. As I opened the back door, I took a bite out of my toast, or more relevantly, warm bread. Crumbs fell all over the kitchen floor, and they would just have to stay their until mum got up and cleaned them or I got back, hopefully celebrating a momentous Scottish Cup victory for Rangers.

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I had been looking forward to this day for the whole season. Since seeing the draw Rangers had, I knew it would take a serious upset to knock them out. I had been brought up supporting Rangers. My dad used to take me to all their games. He worked as a fireman, six days a week, and was on call on Saturdays, so off to Ibrox we would go. We even travelled to every away game Rangers played. I remember many years ago, him getting called 15 minutes into a European Cup match, and dragging me away, despite my complaining. Rangers went on to win 4-0 and I wasn't even there to see it. I never forgave my dad for that. Since the accident, I've been to every match Ranger's have played. He was trampled under boots of the Celtic supporters, after being caught in a riot between Rangers and Celtic supporters, eight years ago.

When I got to the bus station, I could see Wullie and Rab waiting anxiously, trying to hold up the bus. “Made it,” I panted, as I leaped up the steps, onto the coach. The journey to Hampden Park would take twenty minutes if we were lucky with the traffic. We had half an hour till kick-off, so there was definitely no time for the Pub before the match.

The bus pulled up outside Hampden, and we got off, all sprinting to the gate. I noticed a lack of people outside the stadium. The match must be almost kicking off, which made me sprint even harder because I knew they didn't let you in after kick-off. Wullie and Rab both got in and waited on the other side of the turnstile for me. I handed my ticket to the steward, and he scanned it into the computer. He looked at the screen and then looked up at me and delivered the bad news. “I'm sorry sir. You're too late.” I knew there was nothing he could do to let me in, despite begging from Wullie, Rab and myself, because the steward needed to scan a valid ticket to open the gate.

I was gutted. This would be the first Rangers match I had missed since my dad died. I knew he would have always wanted me to keep going to the matches, and I felt like I had let him down.