"..."

"Dear Krause Barleyton."

"We have experienced a change in schedule that impacts your upcoming flight. Please see the changes to your itinerary below."

He clicked and refreshed the page of the email, as though hoping that it would in fact go away or say something else.
The page that greeted him time and time again stood unflinchingly with the conviction of fearless 1's and 0's that could not understand human emotion. Yet, with the slight flicker that spread across the screen. That he wondered whether it that was the product of unclear eyes losing focus from alcohol. Or if it was the power of the laptop laid across the table he half slumped over, half stared at from an odd angle.

He'd already been drinking. There was nothing left for him to do that he had to come in properly for. But as he racked his knuckles against a glass he pondered that he had a reason for it for once. Passing on the first cab for his boss and a woman that he had apparently picked up somehow. Delayed with a taxi with a tire that got ripped. Traffic that seemed to clog up the sub-urban artieries of the highway just for him.

He had to get back, but apparently every flight home was canceled and moved onto a to be determined date. For that matter there wasn't really an option back that he could figure out. What was to be a series of business trips around and meetings culminated in a sleepy town now ended up an impromptu stranded day to week. The small hotel room found itself swiftly decorated with the hallmarks of Krause Barleyton's presence. Clothes littered, a bottle or two lined up on a table that swiftly were emptied and transformed into hollow tall-standing pillars of glass. 

There weren't options that were practical for leaving in a timely fashion so he wrote out a mail to his workplace. But the laptop was left, staring at the back of the man who left his hotel room, forgetting to send it and not even bothering to close the computer.

...

Ah, there was no point in being here.

Almost as though guided by the mocking hand of fortune the window overlooked a park where a baseball field proudly stood still. As the dirt and grass-seeded world shone in his eyes, his gaze guided by the setting sun's rays falling upon it, a cone similar to the field that seemed to fill it perfectly. The game that he so desired to leap back into immutable in comparison to his vision that seemed to get more and more blurry.

...

Ah, what was he doing?

The moment he opened his eyes that seemed to close of his own violation he was in the field. A plastic bat for kids, not even a true bat but one for softball, as though showing how far he fell, held in his hands. Another bottle slipped from his other hand as he stumbled towards the mound. His hand clenched tight.

Ah, why was he here?... no, the real question was why wasn't he here? Why wasn't he at the bat? in the field? The question came with a surge of anger. Why? why? why?

He raised his bat over his head, fingers clenching the handle hard enough for his fingers to feel cold. The rest of his body shuddered, but his hands, for that moment, only now, felt as steady as they were back then.

With a cry he swung down, pining for the days he had lost.

If only if he could...

But that would be a miracle that laid within the realm of the impossible.