As hard as it may be to believe, I am a football. I guard this rooftop and watch the staircase, hoping to one day have the luxury of shelter. As a football, I grew up with my family—the litter—and flew here in a game gone wrong, never to see the ground again.

             I’m stronger than my family; braving scorching heat, blistering cold, blustering gusts, and multiple disasters has toughened my rubber and leather beyond that of one’s average football. This school has provided many sights for me, both pleasant and unpleasant, and both categories shall be revealed. This is a football’s—no—a special football’s legacy. My legacy.

             The students roam these staircases and discuss many things of which they believe no one hears. I, however, have recorded every word for the nine years that I have remained in my seat. I have heard them mention homework, relationships, adult parties, borderline legal activities, bad influences, and multiple layers of social media cake.

            Some have discussed much more private manners, which I will not release for their privacy, but others prefer the false solitude of their cell phones. Most of them carry their phones, actually, staring at their screens while climbing or descending staircases, letting out a silent cry for someone to make them fall—specifically themselves. Perhaps they are trying to train for their Children’s Comedy audition.

             Some students show me some strange things during their time in the staircase. The others are in class, so they believe no one is watching, but little do they know of my watchful eye, watching them perform acts that no high schooler should ever approach. I have been able to see things that no football has seen before; like the first man on the moon, only an achievement on the highest plane of disturbance instead of a revolutionary milestone.

             Every stitch of my body believes this is against some sort of rule, but I say nothing. You may not know this, but footballs do not have much authority in the world; the human’s society is one of discrimination towards footballs. Even if I told the highest or lowest authority of my disturbing findings, no one would believe me. Well, at least they were passionate.

             I sometimes wonder how the ground below has changed over nine years. Surely, after being unable to see the ground for so long, it would have changed in some way. Perhaps they have trained a new league of footballs to be tossed left and right.

             If so, judging by the noise levels I have been hearing nowadays, I believe I may have a friend soon. Or multiple, considering how someone may consider this a cry for help. Either way, my solitude may end sometime soon, lest it will likely last until this building’s demise.

             The sound of the bell’s ring signals for my duty to continue once more. Soon, this staircase will fill with students of every kind, and I will continue to watch them. Perhaps I will receive credit and respect one day—the privilege of being called Mr. Football. In any case, I must return to my daily watch. My hopes are for this letter to travel far and wide—like a scientific discovery—for all to read.