The dimly lit streets of an old neighborhood bore witness to five young men who had turned their usual football field into a place of regret, sorrow, and lamentation.
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"I stole from the store! I’m nothing but a wretched thief!" declared the first, striking the ground around him with force.
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"The poor girl! All she wanted was to visit her friend, her face glowing with innocence… But then a monster came and lied to her about the way, leading her astray… Who knows what became of her? She may have ended up as prey for the wolves."
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The third spoke with nothing but remorse:
"My cowardice made me flee the army, leaving my comrades to be slaughtered by the terrorists… Oh, Foad, what a weakling you are..."
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Then the fourth confessed aloud:
"I don’t know what possessed me to cut that tomato plant. I destroyed the efforts of that little boy whose only goal was to grow seeds."
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Their fifth companion sighed in sorrow:
"What is wrong with us? Why are we so evil, so incapable of wishing good for others? A mere chicken was crossing the road, and I leaped at it, taking its life!"
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"How horrific!" the four friends cried out in unison, then hesitated before asking:
"And what was the reason for this aggression?"
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The fifth, now lying on the ground, pulling his hat over his face, responded:
"That’s what confounds me and torments my mind… We are all wretched sinners, outcasts if ever exposed.
We shroud ourselves in sins and hide away in our den like rats and foxes!"
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Silence reigned, lingering like a verdict passed down by the night itself, until one of them, perceptive as he was, pointed out what had been overlooked:
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"But why is it that today, of all days, we feel regret for what we have done?"
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"Exactly! Never before have we reflected on our misdeeds. And yet, today, our minds can think of nothing else."
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The five pondered over this thought, yet none could offer an explanation.
Driven by a desire to escape their own guilt, they turned to their ball, passing it, dribbling it, shooting at the goal.
And as one of them prepared to score with a spectacular bicycle kick, he murmured:
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"Yes, we are guilty, but kicking this ball clears my mind—I think of nothing but guiding it toward its path."
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His friends agreed, and they continued playing for nearly an hour and a half, just before a group of strange creatures emerged from the darkened doorway, the lights having long since failed.
At first glance, one might mistake them for beings from another world.
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There were five of them, their bodies glowing with an eerie violet hue.
Their leader stepped forward, addressing the stunned young men with a tone of authority:
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"It is good that your minds are clear, for it means you can play against us without your performance suffering.
But before we compete for the ball, let me introduce ourselves…
We are you—yet from a moment when you stripped away your humanity and chose a path of wickedness without reason.
And from that position of absolute control over you, we will face you in the one activity where you try to escape from us."
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A hurricane of confusion, fear, and defiance swept through the minds of the team.
Yet, after mere minutes of thought and despair, they accepted the challenge.
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Before stepping onto the field, one of them demanded:
"And what proof do you have for your claims? More importantly, what do we gain if we defeat you?"
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The leader replied:
"If our unique appearance does not suffice to earn your trust, then let me present to you something." (He pulls out a wallet and holds it up.)
"Here is the money that—" (He points toward one of the young men) "—I stole!"
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"Strange… You're pointing at him while accusing yourself?"
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"Because I am the one who stole it. I am you, the version of you who made that choice.
I am a wicked replica of yourself, and you have no hope of erasing me or my kind—unless you win.
Victory over us in this game is the only way to destroy us."
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"So… you are the cause of our troubles?"
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"No, no, that is not how it works. The truth is that you caused your own troubles.
We are merely the outcome of those choices."
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(Growing impatient) "Enough talk! If you seek change, then face us now!"
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On the field, the ball was placed at the center, one team on the right, the other on the left.
Each side stood as if they were armies, armed and ready for battle.
And yet, the shock slowly faded from the faces of the humans—the guilty ones.
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The kickoff was not the only thing that launched with force.
The entire ghostly team surged forward in a flawless horizontal line, exchanging airborne passes too swift for their opponents to track or intercept.
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Their blitz left the defenders paralyzed with hesitation, their doubts only deepening when a clean header sent the ball into their net without resistance.
The scorer celebrated with a smirk of mockery.
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"They are brilliant! But if they are us, then why are they better? Shouldn’t we be equals?" one of the young men asked.
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The reply came:
"They outplayed us with a simple yet cunning offensive strategy… They displayed remarkable physical strength, pinpoint accuracy in passing and shooting, and an almost supernatural leap for that final header.
That kind of performance doesn’t come from nowhere."
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(All together) "Then what filled that void?"
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"They saw us for what we are! Miserable wretches, lamenting our own sinful reflections—reflections that are now crushing us on the field!"
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"Calm down… It’s just one goal."
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"It won’t stay one if we keep playing. Soon, it will be two, then three, then four, five, and six!" (He throws his hat to the ground in frustration.)
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Weakness and despair began to settle in like unwelcome guests.
With the enemy’s superior skills, finding their weakness became a priority.
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"But why do they glow?"
"They are us."
"Our adversaries, born from our own being, are stronger than we are."
"They are the harvest of sin."
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These thoughts rang through the minds of four players, catching the ears of their fifth companion, who analyzed their words letter by letter.
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With wit and intelligence, he uncovered the secret behind their strength and how to weaken them.
He placed his hat back on his head, motioned to his teammates that he had found the answer, and declared:
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"Their glow, their radiance, their power—it all stems from the fact that they surpass us in virtue."
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He continued, "As long as we have not repented or atoned for our misdeeds, these creatures will continue to exploit our moral weakness.
They are parasites, feeding off the negativity within their hosts."
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His friends did not find his words surprising.
What shocked them was that they had not realized it sooner.
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Immediately, their leader called for a time-out.
The opposition granted it with amusement, their captain saying:
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"Take all the time you wish. Your fate is sealed."
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The team (mockingly): "No, it is your fate that is sealed, like the king of the robots who met his doom!"
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Determined to change their reality, the young men left the field, while their spectral counterparts remained, engaging in idle conversation.
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One sneered at humanity’s tendency toward evil.
Another suggested wiping them out to bring peace to the world.
A third pulled out a phone, showing an article about devil worshippers, which stirred disgust and criticism among them.
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Meanwhile, the team embarked on their redemption.
They returned the stolen money, restored what they had destroyed, and righted every wrong.
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With each act of kindness, their shadowy foes weakened.
Their glowing forms flickered like dying embers.
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By the time they returned to the field, the balance had shifted.
The final match began, and this time, the victors would not be those who had once lived in darkness—but those who had chosen to step into the light. The pre-planned plane was all about "defencive attack". A curve in the structure of players led to a severe melee in which they realized the necessity to obtain a goal from a long distance. "Mates, one of us will break from the structure, geta behind, and then recieve the ball after which he'll send it to the front!"
That was exactly the norm, and a goal was born.
"It's draw.. a deadly draw" screamed one of the suffocated phantoms, followed by his counterparts.
They celebrated, and as they got far, happily chanting, a green ghost watched while a smirk hugged his face. Its name was "memories".
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