Personal Narrative: I Remember The Best Shot

It was dead silent as the ball sat in the air and as if time had stopped. It was December of 2015, I was 13, my team and I was playing for 3rd place in the Colt Classic Tournament. It was a night game at Barrington Station High School. We were playing the Barrington Colts, which was weird considering they are playing for 3rd in their own tournament that they were hosting, before the game, I was talking to some of my teammates Aaron Pattis, Stephen Harris, Bradley Jenkins, Ayden Anderson and I were talking before the game, going into that game we speculated that we had this game in the bag easily as a result of how well our team was playing. Little did we know, we had another problem coming.

On January 22, 2017 at Lower Macungie Community Center gym two Lower Macungie Youth Association (LMYA) were playing against each other. They were playing basketball. No team was getting demolished.

When I was younger I used to play sports especially football. I remember playing in the championship game for Coral Reef Senior High against American Heritage Senior High. It was my last high school game and for us to remain undefeated throughout the season. I also knew I had to bring my “A” game because of college scouts were going to be at the game. Our game was to be played at Florida International University at 7pm. My team and I went to the FIU stadium two hours before the game started to stretch and loosen up. So as the time was winding down for us to play we step on the field, all I could see was a lot people in the stands cheering us on. I kind of had butterflies in my stomach but I had to put that feeling aside and help my team win.

After the the first shot I took my mind went blank. The adrenaline that flowed throughout my body, the feelings of rush, excitement, and success all in one combination of emotions. These were the feelings I had no idea excited until after that moment. Although I had a slight ache in my shoulder due to the force of the 12 gauge shotgun pushing against my shoulder. I was at a lost of words my only reactions was to run, run as fast as I could to get to the dying turkey. Once there the turkey was not fully dead yet It was still flopping around and blood camp oozing out splattering me. Looking at the suffering bird I places my boot on it head to the ground, then grabbed the turkey's body pulling it so its

Headshot! It was the newest, hottest game and everyone who was everyone was playing it. It had spent the last few months in an open Beta, but that hadn’t stopped it from being one of the most powerful Absolute Reality experiences anyone had ever filled their skull with.

It had been dark, and looking back at it, Magnolia could see how her intentions had easily been misinterpreted. After all, manipulating gigantic chunks of metal around a room with what appears to be a stick would be quite uncanny, especially for one who is not used to magic. -------------------------------------------------------------------

Alright. First of all, personally, I think this AU would work better as a multi-chaptered fic, at least around 60K with more interaction, more imagery and a more complex storyline. I read the prompt and thought the schedule changes, freaking out, not knowing each other's name etc. were a good add-on to the story. It would make it more complex and thus interesting.

I can remember the day that my cousin Andrew got shot. Andrew wasn’t really my cousin. Andrew was my babysitter. When Andrew would babysit me he would always tell his friends to bring their siblings over for me to have someone to play with and company for him. Andrew was well known; everyone knew not to mess with him or get on his bad side because his family had a bad reputation, but Andrew was really a good guy. He had all A’s, wasn’t really a fighter, just an overall guy who lived the street life. He always told me that he never wanted to be in the streets and do the things he did for money, just to be successful and go to college. Andrew had a brother name Andre around my age and sister a little younger, so we were all close.

“Move it! Come on! Do you want to become a failure? Hustle!” barked my high school basketball coach, Tony Jackson. We were practicing a lay-up drill as quickly as possible. I saw as my teammates nervously dribbled down the lane to shoot a lay-up. Most players succeeded, but sometimes the shot was only to fail. Scotty, my best friend, passed the ball to me after shooting his lay-up. Dribbling the ball down the lane, I was wondering “I can’t miss the easiest shot in basketball.” I leaped a couple feet away from the basket and shot the ball. The basketball bounced off the backboard. And sank through the hoop. “The backboard is my friend,” I stated to myself. I trotted to the back of the line as I high-fived Scotty.

When I was a kid I loved playing basketball with my dad. He would let me stay up late on school nights and we would play against each other in the backyard until my mother made us come in for dinner. After dinner we would go back outside and he would teach me how to shoot,pass, and defend the ball. He once told me “The key to success is hard work,decision, and perseverance.”

I have a hard time recalling my early writing instruction, but what I do recall was not pleasant. I struggled with words, writing and reading for much of education so writing was not my favorite thing to do. However, I do recall the need for perfection that was so frustrating, as it was a struggle just to produce the imperfect stuff. We did minimal work with the five-step process, prewriting, writing, revise, edit, and publish, until I was in high school. Currently, this is something that is being introduced at a much lower grade and in different ways to engage students. Also, certain aspects of writing, such as spelling, are not required to have perfection

Christmas morning 3 years ago I woke up extraordinarily early because it was Christmas. Walking into the hallway, I saw the Christmas tree all lit up with tons of presents under it all different shapes and sizes. I went to my brother’s bedroom muttering saying, “Hey wake up you sleepyhead.” Then we went downstairs and woke up our parents jumping on them. My mom’s growled “What time is it you bunch of crazy people?”

I cannot recall an instance in which Ely has not been by my side. The baby blue plush elephant takes me back to sketching masterpieces on the stark white kitchen walls using my 64 pack of Crayola crayons with a sharpener. She represented innocence in its entirety; I was her troublemaking best friend. My bright blue eyes mirrored her powder blue skin perfectly, and her yellow pajamas echoed my unruly golden mane of curls. Her design was based upon the drawings of the Beatles' John Lennon. Coincidentally, I've developed a passion for music and art as a form of self expression. We were an impeccable match.

When I started my production I had a few ideas that I thought would work out well. Originally, I thought certain shots involving the bus, the sibling and some interior shots would further the production and provide a better-rounded story. After rethinking the logistics involved in getting the shot as well as the pacing of the video I decided that those shots were not pertinent to the production.

It took awhile to come to realization that my best friend had left me alone at prom, and it took longer to overcome the feeling of loneliness. Now that the person, whom I trusted and loved, had abandoned me I decided to take pictures. With the camera around my neck I walked the cafeteria, and the loneliness faded as familiar faces appeared within my camera’s lens. Illuminated only by the DJ’s light projectors, most of the room was shrouded with shadows. Nonetheless, the people lit up the moment they saw, so all my friends and acquaintances would stop me in my tracks to ask if I could take their picture. Senior students who I’ve never met before would all smile and pose as if we’d been good friends. Regardless if the picture was taken or not