Pull The Trigger
New member
For as long as I can remember, I have always wanted to be an author. I have the excerpt here of the story I'm currently writing. Please read it and tell me if you think i have a chance of becoming one when I'm older. And also, please bear in mind that I'm thirteen years old.
It was clear that this was the ideal place.
Pure, green grass stretched out for as far as I could see, with tall trees casting silhouettes over the edges of the greenery. The sky was clear that day, cloudless, and the sun shone brightly down, almost as if to say, ‘Here I am,’
As I looked around, my breath caught in my throat.
There, sparkling under the light of the sun, was a lake, quite small, but definitely there.
I trudged over to the edge of The Place and sank down, feeling the grass brush against my jeans.
Finally, after searching for God knows how many half hours, I had found an empty space. Isolation, no one there, no one except me. Perfect.
I lay down, and looked up at the sky, squinting slightly at the harsh glare of the sun.
So, I guess it wasn’t the first time me and my mum had Moved On. In fact, I had lost count of the many times when she announced that we would be moving house, and usually, The New Place we moved just happened to be hours away from the last place. I had asked her why one time, and she had just shrugged and said, ‘It’s a fresh start, right? A place that we haven’t been yet, a place that we have yet to explore,’
She told me this when I was seven, and it never occurred to me that the reason for our many moves might be because of her boyfriend(s) at the time. But when I was eleven I had noticed a pattern. She would either drop me off at the place of one of the friends she had recently made, or later, when I was ten, she would just leave me at home, and tell me what she was going to have a talk with a Jamie, Steve, Frank, Matthew or Tom, and then she’d come home and announce our next destination. ‘But I like it here!’ I would cry out to her, trying, begging her, to let us stay. ‘Well, tough,’ she would say firmly. ‘It’s time to move on,’
When I reached thirteen, I had learned that it was no use bothering to even try to sway her from moving; it just wasn’t going to happen.
There it is. I hope you liked it, and I'm not going to tell you what the story's about, since I want you to interpret it you own way.
It was clear that this was the ideal place.
Pure, green grass stretched out for as far as I could see, with tall trees casting silhouettes over the edges of the greenery. The sky was clear that day, cloudless, and the sun shone brightly down, almost as if to say, ‘Here I am,’
As I looked around, my breath caught in my throat.
There, sparkling under the light of the sun, was a lake, quite small, but definitely there.
I trudged over to the edge of The Place and sank down, feeling the grass brush against my jeans.
Finally, after searching for God knows how many half hours, I had found an empty space. Isolation, no one there, no one except me. Perfect.
I lay down, and looked up at the sky, squinting slightly at the harsh glare of the sun.
So, I guess it wasn’t the first time me and my mum had Moved On. In fact, I had lost count of the many times when she announced that we would be moving house, and usually, The New Place we moved just happened to be hours away from the last place. I had asked her why one time, and she had just shrugged and said, ‘It’s a fresh start, right? A place that we haven’t been yet, a place that we have yet to explore,’
She told me this when I was seven, and it never occurred to me that the reason for our many moves might be because of her boyfriend(s) at the time. But when I was eleven I had noticed a pattern. She would either drop me off at the place of one of the friends she had recently made, or later, when I was ten, she would just leave me at home, and tell me what she was going to have a talk with a Jamie, Steve, Frank, Matthew or Tom, and then she’d come home and announce our next destination. ‘But I like it here!’ I would cry out to her, trying, begging her, to let us stay. ‘Well, tough,’ she would say firmly. ‘It’s time to move on,’
When I reached thirteen, I had learned that it was no use bothering to even try to sway her from moving; it just wasn’t going to happen.
There it is. I hope you liked it, and I'm not going to tell you what the story's about, since I want you to interpret it you own way.