Age

The kids had watched the old timer play since they were in primary school.
They watched as he came into the game, fresh and unskilled, using his athleticism to hang in the air and fly in for rebounds. He couldn't score at that time, nor create his own shots.
They watched as he honed his skills.
The old timer, a teen at that time, practiced his jump shots. He learnt how to dribble.
He learnt how to spin; he learnt the step through. He mastered the art of a fake and misdirection.
He perfected his pivot foot and his crossover moves were flawless.
They watched as he grew in stature on the court. His reputation grew and his skills flourished further.

Years passed.

The old timer had developed a reputation; he didn't like to lose, and he didn't. On his home court, he was unstoppable, untouchable, undefeatable.
He crushed all that challenged him, and he did it without effort.
The primary school kids admired his technique and skill, and tried to emulate him on the court.
They pretended to be him whilst playing amongst themselves, and didn't dare to enter the court when he came to practice.
When he took a break, they would rush to the court and play as hard as they could, in an effort to impress him.
But he had eyes only for himself and his skills.

Years passed.

The primary school kids had become teens. It had been months since the old timer had been seen on the court.
It was rumoured that he got into some trouble in the law. It was rumoured that he sustained heavy injuries while playing against thugs who didn't like to lose 7-0, nor his mocking style while playing.
They didn't like to be bamboozled and faked, misled and fooled.
The kids honed their skills.
They remembered what they watched from when the old timer was playing regularly, and they practiced his moves.

One day, the old timer returned to the court.
There was a hushed silence as the kids vacated the court for the old timer, as they did in the past.
He was wearing a singlet and flip flops, unlike his usual school team shirt with basketball sneakers.
He looked slow, although the accuracy was as unerring as ever; his handling still flawless.
He did look slow.

The boldest among the kids stepped up: Hello, can i play one v one with you?
The old timer looked at him and chuckled: Sure ;)
The kid's friends started laughing at him: Get ready for 7-0 hahha, you crazy!!
The kid replied i know lah sure lose one play for fun only lah i want to try cannot isit!
The kid asked to start first; the old timer agreed.
The match began.



In a matter of minutes, the kid was 5-1 up. Two more points to victory, with the old timer not even close.
He couldn't believe it, himself.
His friends were in an awed silence.
The old timer still had a smile on his face, but... it seemed somewhat forced.
The kid missed the next shot, and the old timer tried to counter.
There was something strange about his movements.. It seemed as though his body was not obeying his mind.
The old timer's moves were unable to shake the boy as easily as he had shaken so many other players in the past.
The old timer crossed and spun, but the crossovers seemed so slow; the spins seemed so pointless.
Finally, he managed to see an opening and did a hard left crossover.
Surprised by the change in speed, the boy was left behind.
It was 5-2.
The old timer continued to attack, and unleashed one of his greatest moves; his stepthrough, which the kids have never seen anyone stop before.
He scored.
However, as the ball dropped through the hoop, there was an audible crack across the court.
It seemed to come from the old timer. His hip?
The shocked boy inquired if the old timer was fine, and the old timer replied in the affirmative.

The match ended 7-3.



.........................................................................................................
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~






Grimacing, the old timer sat down at the outskirts of the court.
A bystander came by: I've been watching your game develop and your body decline through the ages. I feel as though i know you even though i dont. I'm ~~~~~, whats your name?
The old timer looked up and said: oh, my name is Zhikai.





Age. You can see it as a curse, or you can see it as part of a legacy.

In the end, what the kids remembered of the old timer were his glory days; when he was young.

Afterall, people remember what they want to remember.