Today’s prompt: write this story(the first paragraph is already provided) in first person, told by the twelve-year-old sitting on the stoop across the street.
Today’s twist: Build this twelve-year-old as a character.
The neighbourhood has seen better days for Mrs. Pauley has lived there since before anyone remembered. She raised a family of six boys, who’d all grown up and moved away. Mr. Pauley had passed away three months ago. With no source of income, she fell back on her rent. The landlord, accompanied by the police came to evict Mrs. Pauley from the house she’s lived in for forty years.
Or so they say. It could even be more. I never knew them personally, save two reasons. My dad used to work with Mr. Pauley. And I used to live with them.
Continue reading Day 18: Best Served Cold
I am leaving my school, where others can find
Memories of mine, which I leave behind.
I first came here at the age of three
An age when everyone is careless and free.
As my childhood days slowly flew,
My standard of studying also grew.
My friends and I had regular Monday morning blues,
We are now remorseful for wanting to avoid school.
Laughter caused by the jokes we cracked,
Class tests in which marks we lacked,
The playgrounds with cricket bats,
And stage plays in which we got to act,
Have all become completely abstract.
I used to think that the strict teachers were really bears,
But now I realise that they were the ones who really cared.
We used to run out at the stroke of the bell,
Running out thinking that we were escaping hell.
But now that all of us have become alumni,
We don’t have the heart to say goodbye.
They say that school is one’s second home,
It is with that thought that I finish my poem.