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.
Write this story in first person, told by the twelve-year-old sitting on the stoop across the street.
“I never liked her. She wouldn’t return the tennis ball when I accidentally hit at her dog that day.” My elder brother said, peeking at their house from kitchen window. Yesterday mom was talking to dad that short heighted uncle with bald head was going to come with police people to make her leave her home.
“That is not fair at all!” I remarked. “She is a very nice lady. She would always give me cookies when I went to her home.” Mrs. Pauley was one of the best aunts who lived in the neighborhood. She would always make anyone laugh. On Monday, she made a joke about my brother. I was laughing till my stomach hurt. She could always make me laugh.
“I hate how her sons just left and now they don’t even try to help her.” My brother said. Though he doesn’t show it, he is sometimes good person too. “She shouldn’t go through this now, especially after her husband gone so soon. She is a nice lady” he admitted grudgingly.
“I don’t want her to go.” I sad, meekly. “Me too, baby brother. Me too!” he said sighing.