Artemius Nystrom was having a shit year.

His point totals hovered solidly in the decent-to-good player range, but his development had come to a standstill. Everyone knew it, and everyone knew why. It didn't make it out to the media, of course. The Blizzard organization had more class than to publicly leak his struggles. Still, as the coach had made it perfectly clear, there was only so far the team could go to hide the number of vodka bottles found in Nystrom's hotel rooms. There was only so long this could go on.

Vicious cycles had their name for a reason. The more he fell in the youth rankings, the more disappointed the looks in the coaches' eyes, the more he felt like he couldn't keep up with the others from his class, the more stress compounded, the more he needed to drink to escape it all for a few hours. The fact that it would all come back in the morning just a little bit worse never quite occurred to him in time.

That evening found him on his hotel bed, after another disappointing game. The bottle of Absolut on the nightstand remained closed. He'd smuggled it in in his gear bag, but now that it sat in front of him, he felt his gut stirring out of its long, depressive slumber. He wasn't sure what the sight of that bottle made him feel, but he knew it was nothing good. What was that feeling deep in his gut, burning like hot oil through a towel?

Nobody liked sharing the room with him anymore. Whoever drew the short straw this evening hadn't turned up yet; he had the room to himself. Not that he could enjoy it; the room was tiny, the mattress was older than he was, and the TV might have been older than the mattress. He wanted to stand up and leave, go for a walk or something, anything, but something kept him there in that damn room.

"Fuck." he muttered to no one. Another night of nothing. It was only a matter of time before that bottle wound up open, and then half empty quick as he could blink. Maybe something, anything, would be different this time. Maybe he should call his mother, he thought for a moment before remembering it was 3:30 in the morning back in Sweden.

Back in Sweden. He let his mind wander. It roamed over the rinks in the old country, over the countless hours spent on them honing the craft that went to waste before his eyes. He used to enjoy the cold air. It made him feel alive back then. His mind roamed to his mother, and how she'd paced upstairs on the edge of panic on draft night. His numbers were still pretty good, but he knew she could see something was wrong. It even touched his father, a man he hadn't seen in fifteen years.

He bolted upright as his phone buzzed. The GM was calling.

[501 words]

:eyes:

      S76 SMJHL DRAFT 3RD OVERALL PICK     
                     IIHF TEAM NORWAY                      

:eyes: nystrom :pepehands:

Angus McFife XVIII RD  7th overall pick by Colorado Raptors
S59 17th OA Pick by Atlanta Inferno
Height: 6''4
Weight:222 lb
Number:23
Nationality : Great Britain
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SMJHL Career
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TBD
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S40|0||0||0||0||0||0
S0|0||0||0||0||0||0
--S59 WJC Bronze--



Character Page RD- Quarterback


Retired players:
-Toki Wartooth
-Nathan Explosion btw
-Angus McFife XVIII