Writing Stories...

[Cassie]

Meh, this is a snippet of one of my older stories. I wrote this when I was about 12, and I realise some words probably are not used in the right context, but it isn't about that for me - as long as I can envision what I'm writing, then I'm happy with it. You won't understand some of the things in this snippet, as it belongs to a larger and uncompleted story.

Mille was perched at the end of the deck, tips of her toes tickling the surface of the silken sea surrounding her. The pastel blue of the sea was playfully caressing the firey orange glaze of the sun.
How silly of me... how stupid, how careless, how-
A gush of vigorous wind seperated her train of thoughts. The palm trees swayed dangerously, the once gentle waves of the sea turned black and angry, the birds in the blushing pink sky were calling to their friends in panic-like squawks.
Millie arose from her sitting position and glared around her, feeling her heart erupt with apprehension and uncertainty.
What's happening?...
It was almost as though the world was being sucked of its brightness, its colour, its happiness and joy. The sun was shrinking while a shadow of black began to embrace the island. The birds were huddled together in colossal bundles, all heading south, away from the sun.
The glacial winds whipped at Millie's long red hair, but yet she stood, trying to comprehend this peculiar situation.

Along came the clusters of rabbits and other fluffy creatures, fear written in their expressions. They whole island was in distress.
Palm trees were collapsing, sending a flood of shakes through the ground. Items were being carried by the wind; deck chairs, carpets, children's toys from the huts. They sky was as black as ebony ink, and clouds were forming, coloured in grey and letting loose speckles of heavy rain.
The sudden jolt of thunder and blinding flash of lightning almost set Millie's heart to stone with alarm.

And so was the picture of death and misery. There it was, right there, playing before young Millie's eyes. Gone was the rosy pink sky, gone was the golden sun, gone was the soft breeze that lingered around the deck, and gone was that relaxed pastel sea.

Millie crouced and curled into a ball on the deck, now concealed in a layer of gelid rain. An unwilling pearl escaped her emerald eyes and raced sown her pale cheek. She knew now, what she had to do. It had clicked.

And that's why I don't want it published - it speaks for itself.

Oh, and I remember you mentioning about your books, Bambi! What were the books called, or about, if you don't mind my asking?