Endless Wonder

**Quick heads-up: this is definitely my writing at its darkest, and it might not be appropriate for Smol People a.k.a children, so if you're younger than about 11 you might want to give this one a miss**                                                                      Darkness. Darkness all around. She sat up sharply, fast enough to make her head feel like it was spinning. She looked around, or rather, she tried to; she was surrounded by a thick, impenetrable darkness, not a sliver of light to be seen. She felt her pulse speed up in fear, but she forced herself to stay calm. Had she gone blind? No, there simply wasn’t any light. She waved a hand in front of her face, but the darkness was so intense she couldn’t even see that far. How had she gotten here? There had to be a logical explanation for it, she knew. She should move, try and find answers. She began to crawl forwards on her hands and knees, keeping her eyes wide open for any sign of anything . Her hands kept b

I was going to wait a couple of days before posting part two of this, but then I thought, why bother. So here's the second part of my Poptropica fanfiction.                                                                                              I walk quickly through the forest, assuming that the main street is on the other side. I’ve been on Home Island for about five minutes and it doesn’t seem very exciting so far – all I’ve seen is trees and grass. I’m tired from my long journey, and I sigh as I trudge along. I’m getting so tired of this, going from island to island – I wonder how long it’ll be until I finally find my home. The trees start getting thinner, and soon I get to the edge of the forest. The sight in front of me makes me forget my weariness. I’m standing at the edge of a busy main street. Shops line the road, and people go in and out of them, shopping bags overflowing. Everyone looks so cheerful, chatting and laughing with their friends. In most of

I wrote this story last year. It's based on the game Poptropica, which is basically an online role-playing game for kids that I've been a fan of since I was about eight years old. I don't normally write fan-fiction, I prefer to create my own characters, but I read a few Poptropica fanfictions and I was inspired to write my own. If you've never played Poptropica before then this might sound a bit weird to you, especially the names and stuff. You can check the game out here if you want to! It's aimed at kids, but anyone can enjoy playing it, no matter what age you are (I'm 15 and I still like it, heh). I've written a bunch of other posts about this game that might give you a clearer idea about what the game is like, find them here . Anyway, enough rambling, here's the story. I'm posting it in two parts, 'cause it's quite long. Enjoy!                                                                                                   The cr

Okay so I just want to write a short-ish post about something that I've been thinking about lately. That something is beauty. No, this isn't going to be some sort of beauty tips post. Or an essay about what I think beauty means to me. I want to write about why does beauty matter so much?  Whenever I visit my family (which isn't often as they live quite far away) they're always like, "oh, you've gotten so pretty now you're older!" or "You're such a beautiful girl!" And I say thank you and maybe go a little bit red because I'm like the shyest person in the whole damn universe, but I can't help thinking, why ? Why do they say that? Why do they seem to think that by calling me pretty they're making me feel good and confident about myself? Because well, they're not. LOOKS JUST DO NOT MATTER TO ME. I don't give a damn whether people think I'm pretty or ugly or whatever. Being called pretty doesn't give me a

So I'm always coming up with little scenes and pieces of dialogue and quotes, that I'll hopefully one day put into an actual story or novel. And I've decided to start writing them down, because I've lost count of the amount of good scenes I've come up with, only to then forget them because I DIDN'T WRITE THEM DOWN. And I've decided to share this with you guys. Some of these are just short pieces of "witty" dialogue, others are longer, more developed chunks of writing; some of them are part of an as-yet-unwritten story, others are just random ideas that don't really have a story behind them (yet). Anyway, I hope you enjoy this little mishmash of randomness. ***  “I don’t understand you.” She raised an eyebrow. “And you think that makes you special? Dude, even I don’t understand myself .” *** “You’re weird.” “Tell me something I don’t know.” *** “You’ll go to hell.” “Well, that’s actually good news. See, my life’s al

Here's a story I wrote a couple of years ago as an English writing exercise, I think? I don't think it's that great, but I showed it to my mum and she absolutely loved it, soo... I thought I might as well share it here, because why not.                                                                        Julie and Jason slowly approached the iron gates surrounding the enormous, gloomy college building. “We shouldn’t be here,” hissed Jason. “We’re going to get in so much trouble with our parents.” Julie was already peering through the bars of the gate leading to the building. “It looks really creepy,” she observed. “Like one of those haunted houses in horror movies.” Her eyes lit up. “Hey, maybe it is haunted! That would be so cool.” “Cool?” echoed Jason. “What’s cool about ghosts?” “Well, I don’t know!” She rolled her eyes. “That’s not the point.” “There’s no such thing as ghosts, you know,” said Jason. “Look, I’m getting chilly. Let’s just go back.” “Have

Hey there! First of all, sorry for this brief hiatus, lately I've either been a) super busy, b) feeling lazy and like I don't have the energy to do anything, or c) both at the same time. But hey, I'm back. And I'm going to write a short post about the past few days. Because I feel like it. Sooo on Saturday my parents and I went on a day trip down to Brighton, as the weather was going to be all right-ish. We got up early and took the train out of London and down to the seaside, yaaay! We did a LOT of walking while we were there. We walked along the beach a bit. Then we walked back to the centre of Brighton and visited some shops. We walked near the beach again. Then we walked some more to the older part of the town, where we had dinner (fish and chips, it was delicious btw). I'm making it sounds really boring but honestly, it was fun, though tiring.  I would have liked to have been able to spend more time on the beach and maybe go in the sea, but it wasn't quit

I drag my feet down the deserted high street, and sigh. I’m on my way home from dance lessons, and I’m pretty tired – all I really want is to go to sleep. It’s late, and most of the stores are closed – there’s barely anyone around. I’m glad, though – I like it when it’s quiet and peaceful. I’m walking past the supermarket when something catches my eye, a little further ahead. There, sandwiched between the clothes store and the bakery, is a small shop. That’s strange – I’ve never seen it before. I’ve been living in this town all my life, and I’ve been walking down this street for years – how could I have missed it? As I get closer, I see that the shop looks very old. The windows on the front display are smudged with dirt, making it impossible to see inside. The paint of the door is peeling off, and the sign on the door saying the shop’s name is so dilapidated I can’t make out what it says. There’s a worn looking sign on the door that says ‘open’. Apart from that, there’s not

Jasmine  It’s like hell has come down to earth. I’m frozen to the spot in the kitchen, listening to the sounds of people yelling, and watching the chaos outside through the small window. The strange people in black seem to be leaving. No-one thinks to go after them. No-one does anything but just stand there and panic. There are people who are obviously injured, lying on the floor, but no-one knows what to do to help them. Someone yells from the front of the café. “Jasmine! Where are you?” I cautiously step into the front of the café, terrified about what I’ll find. The scene I see makes me gasp in horror. Ruby lies on the ground outside, just in front of the café’s door. Her face is pale and there’s a large bloodstain on her side. She was obviously one of the people who were shot. Sophie, Clare and Laura are crowded around her. They all look more shaken than I’ve ever seen them. Even Laura looks extremely worried. “Jasmine, are you all right?” she asks. I nod wordlessly. The sirens of

Here's a story that I wrote about two years ago now, when I was thirteen. I remember I absolutely LOVED writing this. I was so proud of it, and I actually still kind of am, even though now I see that it has its flaws. It's not perfect, but I hope you guys like it. I'm going to be sharing it in two parts, as the whole thing is like 10,000 words and it would be too long to share in a single post. Happy reading.                                                                                                               Jasmine Same old, same old. My alarm clock goes off at six a.m., a shrill ringing into the silence. I shut it up by hitting the button, then curl back under the covers. I close my eyes. I don’t want to wake up. Sleep pulls at me, trying to drag me back into a world of peace and quietness, but I know I have to fight it. I can’t be late for work again. I sit up in bed, rubbing my eyes. I shiver. God, it’s cold in here. I almost can’t feel my fingers. I live