I have a story for class, but it doesnt follow the guidelines and its a little long, so here's my attempt at the first fiction exercise

Its altitude is the very essence of its attraction. The ability to feel the superiority it gives you over others is what keeps you coming back. The land that surrounds you is plush with the color of health and life. You can hear the laughter and unbridled joyous scream of children, the soundtrack to a warm spring day. In front of you sprawls the dirt covered battleground that a game for boys in played upon. Above you is the serenity of the baby blue unknown, almost asking you to try to understand its wonders. Beneath you is the rugged yet accepting ground that you have come to know and love upon each visit. In a moment otherwise filled with peace, a baseball is launched off the bat below and lands within arm's reach. You take it in your hand for a moment to study it, if nothing else. The seemingly tattoed-on grass stains testify to its durability. Its plain white backdrop color allude to the purity of the game that revolves around it; in intention, method, and result. Its bleeding stitches signify how deep its tradition runs in the veins of the American subconscious. After making your appreciative observations, you set the ball down, with a tempered grin. And as you take your hand away, it begins to roll away, taking with it nothing but your hopes of ever seeing it again.