Writing stories is something I've always been good at. To an extent. I can do description well, but my plot always gets messed up. There was a story I wrote when I was about seven, where we had been told to write a story that ends something like "they woke up and it was all a dream". Needless to say, I thought that whole concept sucked. So I wrote a story (that had always intended to end that way) about some kids at a space museum ending up on Mars because of some red dust and having an adventure with some aliens. It went on for about 12 pages (very long when you are seven) and never really got to its ending. I should look out the stories I wrote back then, they were odd. No other way to describe them.
Anyways, I got bored and wrote this off the top of my head. I might finish it some day, but I've said that about a lot of unfinished things.
The girl stood on the shore, the sand crunching between her toes, a welcome feeling after so long. She turned, letting her dress spin around her. All around her was silence. The grass stood shock still, daring the non-existent wind to conjure up an attack. The rocks held their breath, waiting expectantly for an unexpected event. The ocean gently swirled onto the bay, patting it reassuringly, insisting everything will be okay in the end. The bay was deserted besides the girl. The girl in her sodden dress. The girl pulled seaweed from her tangled hair. The girl still bobbing as though in water as she stumbled up the beach. She sat on the warm sand in the shade of the dunes, pulling up pieces of grass. It was hard to tell where she had come from, or where she had been trying to go. Her hair was slowly drying in the sun, but clouds were gathering. Fearing rain, the girl sighed. She got up, stretched, and tried to work out where she was.
Picking her way through the knee-high grass, the girl noticed a road ahead. Her legs were scratched, her knees bruised. Her dress soaked and her hair tangled. The girl, a complete stranger to this community she now found herself in, walked on with her eyes fixed on a goal. A goal to find somewhere to spend the night. Somewhere warm and dry. Somewhere she would feel safe.
The road twisted and turned into a village, a short scattering of houses, a few shops. The girl shivered as she heard the crash of thunder from behind her. Fastening her pace, she followed the road a little further. Everywhere she looked was quiet. The silence told of a past, hidden from strangers. The silence told of evil at night, the village completely still so early in the evening. The girl walked on, looking out for this unknown danger. She limped slightly, stumbled and fell.
As she was getting back on her bleeding feet, she turned her head sharply. A woman had been peeking out from behind a curtain, watching her. The front door of the house opened, and the woman stepped out tentatively. She offered a hand towards the limping child, who stumbled towards her.
The woman looked up in fear, and gestured towards the girl once more. The girl stared up the road, unsure. She was hesitant, but knew the house would be the best sanctionary. There were so many questions she wanted to ask, and most went unanswered. The woman was silent as she offered food, drink, dry clothes and a bed. The girl was happy to accept each in turn, wondering why no questions had been asked as to who she was and how she had got there. More confused than before, but now with a full stomach and dry clothes, the girl gratefully clambered into the bed. It felt softer and warmer than any other bed she had slept in, yet it was probably mediocre. Her head was rested on a pillow made of clouds and it was seconds before the girl fell asleep.