NBA
Cold, damp, wooden planks were enveloped in a blanket of darkness. Louie woke with a jolt, his head against the wood floor beneath him, wet moss and mold brushing against him as he moved to stand up. He couldn’t see much, but the air was damp and cold. Louie shivered as the hairs on his neck stood up—he needed to leave this place but he didn't know where to go. DRIP. Louie almost jumped at the slight noise behind him, but he didn’t know where it came from. Everything was clouded by mist and darkness. DRIP. Louie looked again toward the ground, seeing the slight reflection of a puddle on the ground.
His eyes were starting to adjust to the darkness. DRIP. Louie looked around and finally realized that water was dripping from some leaves above him. Wait a minute, he thought. Is this actually water? The water looked a little green, but he couldn’t tell if it was its actual color or the reflection of the leaves. The dark room was starting to somewhat reveal itself to him. This must be the tree house, he realized. Louie had childhood memories of this place from his old front yard in LA, but he had moved away from this place 14 years ago. BUZZ. Louie nearly jumped out of his skin. The wood rattled beneath him for a second. Suddenly, a white rectangle of light appeared in the corner of the tree house. It was his phone.
He moved toward the device carefully. A text had appeared from a contact in his phone called “KENTRELL.” The text read, “Never Broke Again.” Huh? Louie wondered. What’s that supposed to mean? He opened his phone right as another text appeared on the screen: a picture. In it, there was a dark, wooden structure with a window slightly visible through a cloud of mist. A little hint of white light could be seen through the window. A figure could faintly be seen, revealed slightly by the white light. That’s the treehouse! Louie realized. Who took that? The picture had to have been taken moments ago when Louie turned on his phone. He turned off his phone to get rid of the light and peeked over the ledge of the window.
A growling noise came at him out of the darkness. Louie nearly jumped at it. It was a car starting. Shortly after, a pair of bright headlights from the McLaren 570S appeared, directed at the base of the supporting Louie’s treehouse. The engine revved. Please no, Louie thought, panicking. It was too late; the car, about 100 yards away, began accelerating toward the base of the weak old tree. To Louie’s terror, car simply became a blur of light hurtling for the tree. SMASH. The floor under Louie seemed to shudder, and Louie felt the tree tipping over. The room spun. There was nothing he could do. The dark ground rushed up to meet him.
His eyes were starting to adjust to the darkness. DRIP. Louie looked around and finally realized that water was dripping from some leaves above him. Wait a minute, he thought. Is this actually water? The water looked a little green, but he couldn’t tell if it was its actual color or the reflection of the leaves. The dark room was starting to somewhat reveal itself to him. This must be the tree house, he realized. Louie had childhood memories of this place from his old front yard in LA, but he had moved away from this place 14 years ago. BUZZ. Louie nearly jumped out of his skin. The wood rattled beneath him for a second. Suddenly, a white rectangle of light appeared in the corner of the tree house. It was his phone.
He moved toward the device carefully. A text had appeared from a contact in his phone called “KENTRELL.” The text read, “Never Broke Again.” Huh? Louie wondered. What’s that supposed to mean? He opened his phone right as another text appeared on the screen: a picture. In it, there was a dark, wooden structure with a window slightly visible through a cloud of mist. A little hint of white light could be seen through the window. A figure could faintly be seen, revealed slightly by the white light. That’s the treehouse! Louie realized. Who took that? The picture had to have been taken moments ago when Louie turned on his phone. He turned off his phone to get rid of the light and peeked over the ledge of the window.
A growling noise came at him out of the darkness. Louie nearly jumped at it. It was a car starting. Shortly after, a pair of bright headlights from the McLaren 570S appeared, directed at the base of the supporting Louie’s treehouse. The engine revved. Please no, Louie thought, panicking. It was too late; the car, about 100 yards away, began accelerating toward the base of the weak old tree. To Louie’s terror, car simply became a blur of light hurtling for the tree. SMASH. The floor under Louie seemed to shudder, and Louie felt the tree tipping over. The room spun. There was nothing he could do. The dark ground rushed up to meet him.