Here I am, sitting down drinking a bottle of soda and eating some chips. Looking toward the street where a wooden basketball court sits across the street from my house. This basketball court, made using a old tire filled with and at the center a bucket with a wooden post. Both the tire and bucket filled with cement. Then the backboard made from a plywood and a basketball rim screwed on from the back. Of course couldn’t forget the white line box painted on the plywood.
I see one of my neighbors come out of his house, grabs the basketball from his front yard. He walk out to the street and toss the ball with a spin up in the air and lets it hit the asphalt. With his right hand he start dribbing the ball as he walk toward the basketball court. Within a few feet from the basketball court he shoot the ball, jumping up in the air, using his hand and flipping his wrist to release the ball and his hand following through and his indexing finger pointing towards the basket. I follow the ball with my both my eyes as it goes through the basket with a swish sound.
As my neighbor shoots a few more baskets, other kids from the neighborhood begin to come out of their house as if the sound of the basketball hitting the asphalt called to them. All of sudden instead of there being one person shooting some hoops there now a total of 6 people. Each positioning themselves around the basketball court ready to catch the ball if someone miss the basket. When someone made a basket, I would hear, “Where my change”. Referencing that they get to shoot again since they made the basket. Then I hear, “Let play a game! three on three”. So a game begin, I watch and listen to what the kids are saying as they play. I hear “Foul!” then “I didn’t hear no whistle!” and “That was no foul, I got all ball”. Of course the kids kept on playing. After a few minutes, I hear, “Game!” and swish. The game was over and every begin to wake toward my yard to get a sip of water from the water holes.
Everyone return to the street and then I hear, “Let play another game, but different teams”. I sit there watching them decided who going to be on who team, then they yell over to me, “Little Mike, what to play? We need another player.” I get up from sitting down and walk toward the street where everyone else is at. In a few minute the game begin and we play until we are all tired or parents begin to call in their kids because it a school night.
Day Eighteen: Hone Your Point of View
The neighbourhood has seen better days, but Mrs. Pauley has lived there since before anyone can remember. She raised a family of six boys, who’ve all grown up and moved away. Since Mr. Pauley died three months ago, she’d had no income. She’s fallen behind in the rent. The landlord, accompanied by the police, have come to evict Mrs. Pauley from the house she’s lived in for forty years.
Today’s prompt: write this story in first person, told by the twelve-year-old sitting on the stoop across the street.
First person, second person, third person, whew! Point of view is a type of narrative mode, which is the method by which a story’s plot is conveyed to the audience. Point of view reveals not only who is telling the story, but also how it is told. Consider a recent short story published on The Worship Collective, “Funny Things,” in which the narrator is a child who has passed away.