Down on the field meanwhile the dead kids still played by mix of moon light and that as was spilled from the streetlamps over the highway. From a distance of approx. 200m or something like that you could hear them playing, just like some yells and the thwack of the ball getting booted and dead kids yelling out to 1 another in the weird light and Leeham on the sideline was getting slowly cold and thinking about writing a letter to his Nan but he hadn’t got a pen.

*

Acc. to the hot gossip and local legend dead kids continued to play for aprox 100 days but tho the game was Permanent Fixture it was not always in visible spectrum therefore not eligible for League. No spectators saw them really anyhow, only sure sine of their presence was that dogs crossing over the field were getting freaked out, ‘barking at mere disturbances of the air’ etc and also that idiotards flying drones after Xmas claimed there was like some strange interference causing their miniature craft to drop or turn and spin out of control.

The dead don’t eat. Run thin on thin energy. Most of them never miss a game. Dead kids played roughly 20 or so matches per day/night with no real regard 4 the hour, light or weather, maybe like 140 matches per week, 560 a month. Running kicking yelling. Somehow Leeham somehow dint want to play at all though, not for days and then also not for weeks and the longer he didn’t join in the longer he more and more didn’t feel like it neither so all time just stayed there watching.

*

After aprox 100 days the dead kids started to grind down a bit and play more and more and more slower, like slow incomprehensible tired, cos their clockworks was slowly running out. Now and agen one of the players would even stop to sleep a little, flickering, stumbling and lying on the earth. Eyes closed. Then get up but slower. The captain of each team was yelling like a lacklustre get on with it and Leeham was kind of yelling but more like whispering from the side again like “come on lads!” the remainder or echo of the fog still moving round him and the dead kids starting to curl-up on the green grass to rest more and more, then some of them not rising again, like they were truly finished, finally, ended.

In time there was only like a few dead players left. One of them attackers going slowly up the field easily beating a bunch of dead defenders who are all total sleepy heads on less than full fucking battery power and when he got to the other end of the pitch he saw that the dead goal keeper had already made a pillow of his own arm, lain down there collapsed upon the well worn out grass of the goal-line, as if sleeping.