Stories

I will randomly add sections of stories to my blog. I might never continue a story, or I might turn it into a novel. Who knows? My writing is weird. For example:

I sit on the roof of Tori’s van, binoculars in hand, hoping to catch a glimpse of what brought me out here. Not ten minutes ago, I saw a glowing white thing streak across the sky. I wanted to get the best look I could, so I clambered onto the top of the van and hoped that I didn’t leave any obvious footprints. She and Ria are inside, passed out from exhaustion (they were up till 1, and it’s three in the morning now). Cary’s probably inside, asleep. I feel bad for her, being the one who has to answer for us when we’re outside stargazing or playing Risky Dungeons of Catan or hanging out with friends. But not that bad. I still have to feel bad for her though, because I’m not a teenager yet so I can’t hate everyone. I’m only ten. But sometimes I look older, especially when I brush my hair. So, not often.

My name’s Alexis and I’m ten, and I have dark hair and green eyes and I usually forget to brush my teeth or my hair. I’m in fourth grade and I like to read and do math and look at stars. I have three older sisters, and they’re annoying. One of them will take any risk she can find, one is maddeningly nice, and one memorized the rules of Dungeons and Dragons. For fun. But I’m pretty close to normal, except for this whole stargazing thing.

I wait to see if I can get a closer look, but nothing appears. I’m about to head back to bed- maybe Dad’ll be less upset if I’m in the house in the morning- when I see a light. It’s bright, and oblong, almost shaped like the van, but streamlined and sleek. A spaceship.

Let me explain: I have always been fascinated by the possibility of extraterrestrial life. AKA aliens. I know that’s a weird thing for a ten year old to say. Shall I rephrase that? I think aliens are really, really cool. And I really want to meet them.

I jump off the roof of the van and hit the ground running. I can hardly think about the fact that I may be running towards my own death, I can only think about how I am going to represent Earth to these extraterrestrials. And what they’ll think of me. I come to a stop a few feet from the ship and run a hand through my hair, eyeing my boots and wondering if I have time to retie the knot on the left one, it’s coming loose.

I don’t have time.
This is the sort of thing I write. Sometimes, I will accompany it with art.