My Home

My home is the sound of a ticking clock, a buzzer, screams, and cheers of the audience. Squeaking shoes across the hardwood floor. My home is the first whistle of the game as the ball goes up in the air. My home can be sadness of a loss or joy of a win. My home is a leather ball with black stripes. My home has a bench, sweat, and gulps of water from bottles. My home is hard to understand, sometimes at my home you make mistakes, big or small. But you push through it. At my home you can't be lazy, tired, or give up. Every second you're at my home is important. My home does not have a bed, a kitchen, a shower, a backyard, or even a TV. Just a polished floor with lines, 10 people, and a ball. My home is a competition, and even if you don't win, playing and being there is more than enough for me. In my opinion, I don't think anything is better than my home. The court...