Story I Just Wrote

Anyway, I got bored yesterday while my brother was at cricket so I wrote a story. It is unfinished but I will update it.

My eyes seethed with hatred as I glared at my captor. Lean and muscular, he was of medium build and, by estimation, was in his late twenties or early thirties. Strong rope bound my arms to a metal pole and a gag, made out of a ripped tee-shirt, covered my mouth. He lunged forward and wrenched the gag free.
“Who are you?” he half sneered. He held a short but sharp knife at my throat. I watched in horror as he drew the knife away, with blood smeared on the edge, but said nothing.
“Very well. You are not from a rich family, that is certain from your.... current state. Yet you are not a native, as your skin, though brown and tanned, and covered in dirt, is white underneath,” he spoke with the accent of the bandits, slurred. I closed my eyes tight, though I knew that I would not wake from this particular nightmare. When I opened them, he was gone.
“Help! Help me! Please,” I cried in desperation with the language of the forest. I searched out with my mind, looking for anybody, anything, that could answer my pleas. Nothing. So be it. I raised my head in determination. If I was to die, then I would fight. Go down fighting, that was what Krasan always said. Don’t let them kill you without trying. I would honour the forest ways, then.
“Damn,” I thought, internally cursing. The man was back, this time with a crony.
“What have we got here, now?” The other man’s face showed no emotion. It was like the face of a doll, never changing. Not that I had ever actually seen a doll, but I had heard stories from Krasan and Nebula. At the time I had thought that they were trying to scare me, but now I realised what they meant by ‘the face of a doll’. I flinched as his grimy fingers lifted my chin. I stared into his greedy eyes disgustedly. A fierce urge overwhelmed me and I struck out, drawing blood with my sharp teeth.
“I guess Krasan would be proud of me,” I thought bitterly, “too bad he isn’t here.” He should’ve been there, it was he who dared me to stand on the edge of the forest in the first place. I cried out uselessly once more, for help, as the two bandits roughly shoved me into the back of the ute. I wrinkled my nose in distaste. It smelt like rust and.... blood. Great, just I needed. It wasn’t a long journey, but with every jolt I felt more confused and bewildered. I managed to sit up somehow with my bonds to look over the side. We were on a dirt road, and from what I could see, we were entering the local village. Natives, the dark skins, stared at me in horror. I heard whispering and the children crying as I passed them.
“Typical,” I whispered to myself. A glinting piece of shining metal caught my eye in a brief moment. As best I could, I shifted towards it into a position suitable for releasing my bonds. It was a slow and painful business, cutting the thick rope around my feet. Once, twice, I gashed myself. Before I was cut for the third time, a miracle occurred. I was free. I considered for a moment whether it would be best to stay to undo my wrists, but decided against it. For all I knew, the bandits were approaching their destination. I didn’t know where that was, but I didn’t want to find out. Gathering my determination and wits about me, I made the leap of faith.
My body hit the hard dirt road painfully, in the wrong position. I lay there, winded momentarily, before frantically raising myself from the pavement, and wildly running from sight. The last thing I remembered before waking was feeling a sharp pain in my left leg, and hitting the ground again.
As my vision slowly reappeared, kindly faces swam into view. Too close. I struggled away from them, beyond reasoning.
“Give her a minute to calm down,” one spoke, softly, “she’s had a nasty shock and she’s got an awful wound.”
My head seethed with memories of the past few days- Nebula and Krasan laughing, flying above the tree tops with me helplessly climbing underneath, Serath lecturing me, Yewrahey being a mother, the tiger cubs, the new eggs, the dare and.... the bandits. Once my head had stopped spinning, I sat up to scrutinize my surroundings. The room was clean, big and white. The floor was tiled, blue and white. The door was deep blue, the colour of the drinking pool back home, to match the tiles. There were no windows. It was too bright and too clean. It was hell.

Ratzy, seroiusly are you sure you're only 12????? You are a very talented young lady, I can't wait to read the updated version! You're parents must be so proud.

WAIT A MINUTE!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! YOU are twelve. I am twelve two for one. Nice to meet you. Two YOU ARE TWELVE and wrote that amazing story. You should be an author when you grow up. I am not kidding that was amazing.!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! If that turns into a real book. Whoops WHEN it turns into a real book can I have one of the first copies???? That was amzing...!!!!!!!!!!!!

Hell yes ratzy count me in for a copy I was Captivated
it's been a long while since a story has drawn me in like that
I can't wait for more please please please keep writing
I think you have a real talent that could take you far

I look forward to the update
I'm so truely amazed by you ratzy
your half my age yet you inspire me almost every day
god bless you

Awesome Ratzy! You are so imaginative and gifted
What happens next????!!!!!

Thank you guys! Yep, I'm twelve. I haven't written outside of school for ages but I miss it. Here's a bit more.
I struggled out of the starch, hard cot and thudded to the floor.
“Damn,” I thought, weakly. The pain in my left leg was strong, and prevented me from walking, let alone running.
“Must’ve pierced a muscle,” I mentally swore. I’d never get out like this. I’d be caught before I could even get out of this building. My fists clenched, escape was impossible. But at least I didn’t have to worry about the bandits. After my breathing had calmed, I inspected my wound. It was deep, but didn’t cover much skin. It was in exactly the wrong place. It would take at least 6 weeks to heal correctly, I estimated.
Sudden, sharp footsteps echoed outside of the prison room. I heard keys turning in the lock.

You have an exciting world ahead of you. Are you writing for yourself or for school or both?

Just myself really.

Sorry, I had missed your second post where you explained that already. I fully understand writing for one's own pleasure, but you should also consider entering literary contests which can help with school expenses in future. I would not be surprised for you to be showered with scholarship offers when the time comes, but your writing is also competitive now. Your school librarian might be able to help you find these or go on line and be careful to separate the scams ("so you want to write children's books??? Pay here") from legitimate prizes. You might also consider joining a local writing group if your parents permit. I offer these suggestions because I also wrote "ahead of my age" more years ago that you can imagine and even though my college and graduate school education was in biology and health care, I won financial assistance via the writing. And although I am only published in medical textbooks nowadays, it is still something I do for pleasure and relaxation. Just a thought, but you really are talented and working closely with other writers now may accelerate your writing even more.

A little more.
Her face made me take a sharp intake of breath, but not in the good way. Half of it was burnt, red and raw. The other was so white it looked like she was a ghost. Her eyes were grey and dull, for all their sharpness. Her hair was just as dull as her eyes, no imagination. It was restricted in a tight bun. Her clothes were grey and neat, a skirt and top. Just looking at her made me realise the nature of her character. Not pleasant.
“Hello there. I’m Nurse Hilda. Who are you?” she smiled a sweet, fake smile that never reached her eyes. I shuddered, repulsed, but didn’t respond. Her gaze hardened, and she left. Long after the door slammed shut, I glared at it balefully.
After a time, I grew drowsy. As my eyes grew more and more heavy, I sent out one last plea for help, before the world went black.
When I woke, I momentarily had a lapse in memory.
“Nebula? Krasan? Serath? Yewrahey? Are you there?” I cried out in the ancient language of the forest, before I remembered. Remembered the horror, the brutality.
Though there was no window, the lights were on. Light meant day. Besides, I knew from experience that the villagers, the ones with the magic lights, turned them off at night. Oftentimes, from the safety of the trees, I had seen them suddenly flick off, as though some magic switch had been clicked.

Love it ratzy and I totally agree with barb
if this is something your passionate about then I'm sure you can go along way with it
please even if you only ever do it for yourself
don't let it go to waste

We have the next avatar story on our hands lol
sorry ratzy if I have mis interpreted your story at all but this is the image I get when I imagine your story

An avatar type person being taken by a gang of blood diamond hustlers or such like in the middle of a south African tin hut village

That's just my veiw of it so once again I'm sorry if I mis interpreted

Your not exactly on the right story line, but I'll keep you guessing. It's a working progress anyway. More tomorrow, but I'm off to bed soon.
EDIT: See? I'm even making simple puntuation mistakes, I MUST be tired.

Awesome Ratzy! For some reason I had an elfquest feel to it Apologies for most likely being WAY off!

Your writing style is amazing! I will be looking for you someday on the shelf right next to Stephen King For a 12 year old you have more grammar skills and eloquence than many adults I know! Keep up the good work... and make sure to take AP English if it's offered in your school district... with your writing skills you will ace that course and the AP exam... and that equals free college credits! I believe they start offering it in the 9th or 10th grade, right up until grade 12. I just took it last year (my senior year)... and it was a great class... I learned so much in it.

I like writing . And reading. Which makes me have a lot more knowledge than the average twelve year old. Writing is easy, as long as YOU are there. You have to be with the story, the whole time. What you notice while you are in that scene is what you put on paper.
Not much, but my lap top has been sent off to replace today and I had school. When I get home I'll probably right a load more.
So, stay or go, I wondered? If I tried to run, to fight, I would surely lose, on account of my disability. If I stayed on, and pretended to be tame, domesticated, then maybe I would have a chance. A chance to see my family, my home, again.


EDIT: No more today, I forgot to save it onto my dad's computer and it is on my school sever.

Keep up the good work... I used to write when I was your age, but I stopped when I hit junior high school... definitely was not a good idea. If I had kept writing, my skills would have gotten even better. And now I my writing skills are gone... because in nursing they actually encourage us to not even write in complete sentences!

I just pasted the stuff on here onto a word document and did a little more.


I would stay then, for better or for worse. Suddenly, my sharp ears heard the sound of more footsteps. They sounded less sharp and heavy than Nurse Hilda, as she called herself. I was right and another women entered the room. She looked nicer, and I recognised her, she was the one who had spoken at first, when I had gained my consciousness.
“How’re you feelin’ now, darl?” Sugar sweet, as from the first moment. Be on your guard, I told myself. If they try to get in your good books, it’s probably so they can exploit you. She seemed nice enough, but you never know.

“Here’s a nice little uniform to put on, sugar,” she tweeted, while I looked at the drab grey clothes in disgust. She hung them over the edge of the cot and left.
“Come out when you’re ready.”
No way was I going to wear those garments! On second thoughts..... I would have to. My family depended on it. Sighing heavily, I pulled on the terrible things and meekly opened the door. The meekness, of course, was fake, as all of my instincts told me to fight, to run.
A horrible sight met my eyes. Grey uniforms, everywhere. Kids, like me, reduced to mindless zombies. They had a glazed look in their eyes, a slumped posture.
“What have I got myself in for?” I wondered, my eyes widening considerably. A girl, near the same age of myself, caught my eye suddenly. I stared at her for a moment before realising what was different about her person. Her eyes were sharp, perceiving. Cautiously, I sidled up to her. She took in my appearance much the same way as I had hers.
“You new?” she whispered. I hesitated before nodding.
“I’ll talk, you listen,” she bargained. I nodded again.
“You see, I’m an undercover agent. I was sent here to discover how they turn kids like us into mindless zombies,” she gestured at the other kids, “This has been going on for months. They sell them to rich people as slaves and servants. Dad and Mum, they’re both international spies, have known about this since the start but they haven’t been able to discover how. If they knew the how, they might know the why and if they knew the why, they might know how to stop it.”
“Well? Aren’t you going to say anything?”
“Yes,” I was taking a risk, but she was on my side, right?
“Was that you?” she gasped, “But.... you didn’t say anything.”
“No, I don’t need to. I can’t.”
“You can’t talk? But you can understand....”

Awesome as usual ratzy well done !
I'm loving this story so far and loom forward to the next instalment

Okay, I know I've been slack....

I've been busy, but here it is, updated.
I've pasted most of it, so you won't have so much trouble reading it.




“Here’s a nice little uniform to put on, sugar,” she tweeted, while I looked at the drab grey clothes in disgust. She hung them over the edge of the cot and left.
“Come out when you’re ready.”
No way was I going to wear those garments! On second thoughts..... I would have to. My family depended on it. Sighing heavily, I pulled on the terrible things and meekly opened the door. The meekness, of course, was fake, as all of my instincts told me to fight, to run.
A horrible sight met my eyes. Grey uniforms, everywhere. Kids, like me, reduced to mindless zombies. They had a glazed look in their eyes, a slumped posture.
“What have I got myself in for?” I wondered, my eyes widening considerably. A girl, near the same age of myself, caught my eye suddenly. I stared at her for a moment before realising what was different about her person. Her eyes were sharp, perceiving. Cautiously, I sidled up to her. She took in my appearance much the same way as I had hers.
“You new?” she whispered. I hesitated before nodding.
“I’ll talk, you listen,” she bargained. I nodded again.
“You see, I’m an undercover agent. I was sent here to discover how they turn kids like us into mindless zombies,” she gestured at the other kids, “This has been going on for months. They sell them to rich people as slaves and servants. Dad and Mum, they’re both international spies, have known about this since the start but they haven’t been able to discover how. If they knew the how, they might know the why and if they knew the why, they might know how to stop it.”
“Well? Aren’t you going to say anything?”
“Yes,” I was taking a risk, but she was on my side, right?
“Was that you?” she gasped, “But.... you didn’t say anything.”
“No, I don’t need to. I can’t.”
“You can’t talk? But you can understand....”
“Yes.”
“Could you teach me?” she whispered hopefully.
“I’m not sure it is something that can be taught.”
“Try,” she whispered fiercely, I glanced at the two women, Nurse Hilda and the ugly one, and my gaze met theirs.
“Crap,” I thought to myself.
Despite my intense fear of being discovered, nothing happened over a long period of time. I slowly settled into the drab and boring routine. The hours passed more quickly than I expected and a sort of peace overcame my body. One part of me was always alert, for danger, for threats, but that part was growing smaller every day. It was only when the girl, the one I had come to know only as ‘The Free One’, spoke to me again that I snapped out of my calm, quiet, half-existence.
“Come over here,” her whisper was so urgent I obeyed at once, though my consciousness had, over the time I had spent in my forest, only obeyed my own commands, “quickly.”
Unthinkingly, I subtly stepped over in her direction.
“I’ve figured out what make the children like that,” she gestured at the things I had come to know as ‘zombies’. But, they must have once been children too, mustn’t they? “They drug them, lull them into dimness with the dull routine.”
She looked at me carefully, decisive.
“And..... they’re starting to work on you, too.”
Then.....
The world went black.


I was bewildered when I came to. Nurse Hilda and the ugly one were positioned at my sides, their dangerous claws tightly gripping my shoulder. In front of me were two people, kindly looking enough, but I’d learnt not to trust appearances. The man had a dark complexion, brown eyes, black hair and olive skin. He looked to be in his mid-forties, at the most. The woman was white skinned, fair haired and blue eyed. Both were smiling cheerily, but I couldn’t get over the feeling of un-ease in the pit of my stomach. Something was about to happen, and instinct told me I would not like it. The two nurses forced me to sit in one of the three chairs on one side of a desk. The smiling couple also sat down, but on the other side. My sharp eyes began to take in the other surroundings. The room we were in was a sharp, blinding white. The floor was wooden boards and the door was shut. A fan was positioned above the desk, two weedy pot plants were draped over the rim and some papers were in neat piles, facing the couple, on the desk.
“All you need to do is sign here, here and here,” Nurse Hilda smirked as the pen was produced. Though inside I was in turmoil, I was careful not to show it.
The signing went on forever, until I was squirming in my seat. The couple seemed nice enough, but didn’t Nurse Hilda? Briefly I wondered about the spy girl. Had they gotten her as well? It seemed likely. I pushed that thought to the back of my head. There was no point in worrying. I could do nothing.
The couple stood up, and I was pushed forward. Not a word was spoken as they walked me out of the prison.
It was a long journey to the next prison that they intended to keep me in, and I was disappointed, not in the ingenious of the prison itself, but me. Dozens of times, along the journey, I could have made a run for it. But I hadn’t, and there I was, helpless.
Their house, though exotic and luxurious it might have been, was just another barrier blocking the path to blissful freedom. Three storeys high, with a sparkling pool at the foot, it may have seemed paradise to any other person.
Not me.
I supposed that the true nature of my being would have scared any rational, sensible being.
I was ruthless.
From my earliest days, I had learnt not to rely on anybody but myself. I had had to fend for myself in the forest, fight large predators, beasts of power beyond imagining. A crocodile’s tooth hung on interlocked vine as a pendant around my neck. The beast, long dead, had terrorised the forest creatures for years. It had obeyed none of the rules, the ones that have kept the forest balanced for as long as it was created. The ones that ensured that everyone could drink at the waterholes scattered about the miles of tree foliage.
Suddenly, the female of the couple jerked at my arm. Her grip, just above my elbow, was tight.
“Come.” As I suspected, her voice was mean, sharp and brittle.
I reluctantly followed suit.
“This is where you will sleep from now on. You will begin work tomorrow in the nursery.”
The room where I was expected to make myself at home in was small, cramped, and full of cobwebs. I did not linger there, and decided to explore.

The air outside was not as good as the crisp, clear air of the wilderness. Not pure. Pollution, toxic waste mingled with what could have been fresh. Although I couldn’t see them, I could almost feel the fumes sneaking up behind me, choking me, tightening upon my throat. A disturbing thought. The garden, if it could be called that, was fairly boring to look at. Fake grass, which, at first, had caught my attention, was so obviously fake that I laughed, aloud. Plants that were restricted in growth, puny rose bushes tied to posts. A clean bird bath stood in the middle of the grass, but it was one that no respectable bird would ever find themselves looking at, let alone bathe in.
The garden was no great beauty, at least not in my eyes.
I turned to leave, disappointment echoing in my mind. But, out of the corner of my eye, I had seen something.
There, standing obediently in a shabby corner, was a shed. No ordinary shed, though. This one was partially a mesh construction.
It was a cage of some kind.
I stood there, wondering if I possibly dared to look inside.
“AMBER! Where ARE you?!” It was the woman’s voice, plainly looking for me, though I had no idea why she was calling me ‘Amber’. It wasn’t my name.