It all started with the old cars hidden in the woods...

Oh the children. The kids.

They had been celebrating their win. First place in the local junior soccer league. In fact, the sandy-haired, chill nine-year-old had one MVP. He made a number a assists, yet never scored a goal himself. The highlight of his day was watching his parents light up as he got his metal. He never took it off. Not for the rest of his life.

His town is in a particularly remote area. Woods would surround the quaint homes, but they would never go deep. The trees were spread out. It wasn't hard to see the other road peeking behind the trees, except this time cars were parking between the branches. Old ones. The red and black paint was rusted and scratched, windows looked like they had never been clean. Red was the sandy boy's favorite color. It was the color of his jersey: bright red with a big bold number 23 followed by his name. His parents loved the number 23. Represented growth, happiness and protection. He could never be harmed. Ever. Right?

It wasn't far into the night when his parents were getting worried. Their golden child hasn't arrived home yet. They wanted to call the police, and did twenty minutes after the idea was introduced. The police came over fast, it was a small town afterall. They had mentioned looking in the woods. The sketchy cars were still parked there. The boy's mother just shook her head, not even acknowledging them. Afterall, her child would never run off into the woods. She begged for them to find her boy, her baby boy.

The police had checked the cars nonetheless. They weren't sure if they should have been glad or not. The mystery was solved, but... Well let's just say ignorance is bliss.

They were troubled telling the boy's parents about his state. It was sickening, to put it simply. His usually sandy blonde hair was matted with rusting red, and his eyes? They had been clawed out and replaced with miniature soccer balls. It looked as if they were entering a goal. Strangely, that wasn't even the worst part. Right at the center of his chest laid the metal he got earlier that day. It too was bloody, but worst of all it was engraved into his chest. Someone had forcefully ripped apart his flesh, and not neatly, flesh had been thrown about in the car, and placed the award at his chest. The son looked as if he died still kicking. The killer had no mercy to spare the boy. The police had told the mother this. Sparing no details from her tearing eyes. They had been ready for the breakdown just moments away from happening. It didn't happen. The mother instead had laughed. She had burst out laughing, holding her belly as if this was the most hilarious thing in the world. It had taken her some time, a few minutes at least, to get her composure enough to speak. "Should have scored more goals then, huh?"