Young Writers Society

Okay, I happened upon this story....And well, each time I read it....I feel really sad because, now I know how well I wrote when I was twelve. Back then, I thought this was pretty bad....But now, it seemed my writing would be at a author's level in two, three years? I wanted to be a writer, but looking at how bad I am now, not sure....This is not amazing, but I just don't write like it anymore. This as far as I know, is unrevised. Going to post a more newer piece(s) nearer to the bottom, and if anyone wants to bother-compare. (I don't expect many people to read all of it, because it is too much-But a scan through would be good.)

A full-moon overlooked a dead valley, for the only sound was the wind, which was not the first of the undoubtedly unnatural nights. Not a creature stirred, as the moonlit valley fell into equality .

In the past, the Valley of Nothing was said to be alive with life constantly, never without the everyday sounds of the natural world. Alas, it’s ancestral name was the Valley of Serenity.

It’s hills would be covered by expanses of Firs, while the leveled middle of the valley was a bright green meadow, with a surreally pure icy-blue lake, said to be formed from the spring when the mountain’s snow-bound peaks melted, melted snow flowing down into the lake. A ever-growing town was prospering in the paradise, always a new traveler that wanted to start anew appeared at the town’s gates constantly; and was welcomed in by kind hearts. Until a pair of unwanted eyes fell upon it……

“ Hey, Cameron, you have finished your chores!” Came a rough toned voice, the voice was filled with wisdom of many decades .

A young boy came trotting along the ground that was littered by ash, with a pile of firewood clumsily piled in his weak hands, and he angrily complained “, Why don’t we move away from this…” The boy paused for a moment, then continued “, trashy val----” The boy was inturrupted by the old man’s yelp “, Don’t ye dare call this valley that! “ The boy was unbalanced by the sudden yell, and fell back, as firewood flew from his hands, flying everywhere, swiftly rolling away. The boy’s face was embarrassed, and angry at the same time. The old man, his caretaker, had told the boy many times that only a decade ago that the valley was lush, and filled with life. Though obviously, the boy never believed the old man, and the boy almost believed the old man was turning delusional in his old age, though the boy still cared more and more for him as time goes on. Of course, the old man was still considered old a decade ago before the valley suddenly died, and everything and everyone in it. It was a mystery why this old man clung to his past, the faded memories of his long-since-past childhood in the town’s early days, about half a century ago. The boy scampered about, picking up the scattered firewood for the make-shift fire place outside a poorly made cabin. The fire wood was just about burnt already. Everything was just about ashes, only the far reaches of the valley had burnt twigs that even resembled trees. There was a small grove of trees the man was growing, in hopes to see the valley in it’s glory once again, even the old man made sure only small amounts of trees were cut down for wood.

Though, the rebirth of the valley, unfortunately would not be in his lifetime.

The young boy almost pitied the old man, and never looked forward to the unstoppable day of his death.

The death of his only friend.

A chilling breeze reached out to the only two living things in the valley, bringing a intoxicating scent of ash.. Even mere insects stayed away from the Valley of Nothing.

The boy shivered, and covered his nose from the choking ash. The two have lived, and learned to thrive without complaint in the valley that was unbearable for others. Food was extremely scarce, and many treks were made in order to hunt- miles away from the valley.

As the two awkwardly stared, their eyes cautiously scanning the dead area, like always, they were suspicious of everything, though there was nothing.

The past glances, and the boy piled the firewood near the fireplace, and sighed

Chapter 1

The unstoppable passage of many moons, chilling winters that drained away the very spirit of the only two residents of The Valley of Nothing, to the Springs that brought new strength to them, and the searing Summers, when the Sun glared down to the bare valley, time past slowly, - a day seeming like a year to Cameron, the now young man, or almost an man, for him, some of his features from his childhood lingered. With tanned radiant skin that was well toned for the unbearable valley, rare inquisitive eyes that were piercing silver, with darker lines surrounding the darkened pupils of the silver eyes. To his long, and sun- battered sandy hair, which was tied into a neat ponytail falling just below his shoulders. Even his muscular frame had grown twice as much in the past half-decade, he would be considered handsome by anyone, though only the Old Man, who was aging quicker and quicker, wrinkles almost covering his eyes, and white hair that was so ragged that it matched the ravaged wastelands of the valley. By now, Cameron had already taken every miniscule to major chore upon himself to do, trying to lengthen the Old Man’s time.

Cameron repeatedly spent the long hours of Summer days pushing him to the limits of his physical and mental being. By now, he was no longer weak, but muscles corded his arms, a feat acquired by him for only many years of constant labor as a mere child.

He was barely sixteen.

The grove of trees was still only an ant compared to the former glory of the long-since-past Valley of Serenity. The trees were weak, and when a new leaf dared to grow, after minutes, it shriveled up in the glaring sun.

Still, to Cameron’s silent surprise, the trees have always stayed alive somehow, and he wondered if they were getting nourishment from the broken down remains of corpses, which he attempted to never think of.

By than, the Old Man often was slower then ever before, thinking he was faster then what was actually true, to him, ten minutes of attempting to walk the nearby grove of trees, seemed like only a minute to him.

Cameron often watched from afar at his old mentor, believing the Ranger to have become too old to even recall anything. Cameron thought back to the old days when the Old Man was stronger, and skillful, to the point where the young boy thought that he would never be that good with hunting, or anything, in fact.

Now, he was almost laughing at how he used to think the Old Man used to be his idol…

Cameron almost wished he could leave the Old Man before his unstoppable death, now looking at the image of him now, Cameron was no fool, he knew the Old Man was near his time.

Still, Cameron was a man of morals and kindness, he will see the Old Man’s life to it’s end.

He often wished for the Old Man to become young again, and then the two could go on adventures across the world of Arias, for decades until they die from an honorable cause.

The Ranger often taught, or simply told the young man of his own adventures.

The Old Man’s real name was John Vainar, though he threw away his name when he arrived back to his village after decades of adventures, to find it freshly destroyed, thinking he could have done something when the cataclysm happened just before he arrived in his home. Which, that was when he had found Cameron, a new-born that the Old Man believed to gift, or a survivor, thinking whatever caused the cataclysm to have pitied the humans only a miniscule amount to have aloud one survivor at the least. Though, Cameron believed the Old Man was not telling the complete story. Alas, the young man puzzled for hours on end at night trying to solve the unsolvable mystery of how the Valley of Serenity lost it’s name. This was no debate, there was no natural cause of everything dieing without any cause, and trees that turned to ash without flames, which was impossible by the natural order!

Cameron believed he wasn’t ready for the world, without the Old Man watching over him, but just maybe, when he is gone, he could be one of the many stars in the sky, shining the brightest, leading the way always.

Suddenly, a noise reached Cameron’s ears, and he snapped his head back franticly to the Old Man, and there he was, lieing motionless on the ashy ground.

-Okay, that was it....But I do have 6 more chapters written. This is the newer one now-

(Gonna post two prologues)

Booming sounds of the city combined together to a single, never-ending note- the sounds of humming cars, thousands of words, and the unknown sounds always ever present in alleyways. The neverending process of city life was pure elegance in its simplicity. All the small things in it made it a perfect environment for humans- the scurrying disease-harboring rats, the monstrous buildings, the feeling of absolute worthlessness being amongst a sea of faceless people. After all- Everyone had their own story, netherless of how simple it may be at first. Stories can be found in everyone, even in the tattered clothed old man you oft see laying on a sidewalk, staring at you with weary eyes. All those stories all sync to make life-or what is it really? I really wonder-however how offhand it may be- what is my role in the perfect chaos of life? Is the thing I seek, purpose? Carefully witnessing the common occurrences of the hundreds of happenings in Wayward Square- the center of Carro, back then, only thing I did was watch and wait- and for what? I seeked out something, but the object was completely imaginary. Now, gazing out towards the sun glaring down, while stray rays of light found their way into shadow-filled alley ways, there’s one mystery left in the world. And that’s what I seek. Slipping down from the crumbled Hope’s Light Hospital, wincing hazel eyes against the ever-staring sun, I looked boredly towards the desolate area, the single note song of the city drifting softly into the surroundings. Simply thrusting my hands into my jean pockets, I strolled casually onward towards Wayward Square- as I always did. A pair of plump doves hastily flew by overhead, while a homeless walked slowly nearby. For some reason- the scene was complete. Letting out a loud sigh, shifted into a jog, then a paced run. My eyes rested on a crooked building, which looked more like a ruin everyday. This was York Boulevard, where I have made my own home at. It was a dead area, home to doves, rats, and homeless. I suppose I should classify myself as ‘homeless’. But this is my home, isn’t it? I managed a laugh for my own sake. Not much more than an hour later, I found myself in Wayward Square. In truth, it seemed although I was drawn here by some other force. As if something was going to happen- and I wanted to be witness to it. Something- I gazed with half-lidded eyes towards the sea of people. Nothing different….Again. Will anything ever be strange or even uncommon in this town? Voices of a hundred people rung out as a orchestra, making any other stray sound flood out, my ears ringing painfully as usual. Strange enough as it is-Why am I the only one who even feels bothered? Are they that caught up in the never-ending sea of life to even note the car coming their way?-Which was my best guess. I managed to go through the large clumps of people, scowling. What am I doing anyways? Finding my purpose that’ll keeps eluding me? What does Wayward Square have any coherence with my own purpose? Barely getting into a nearby alleyway to get a fresh breath of air, I bit my tongue when I saw the recognizable grin. It was Richard Karrow. He was not quite a respectable individual, being double-faced in everything that escaped his lips. I wasn’t quite sure his age either- 24? Basically, everything he said, did, sound somewhat suspicious. Though- I had to admit. He had a roguish charm, with soft features, and intense blue eyes. He chuckled, saying “, Oh, how do you do. Miss Rose.” I scoffed the second he said my last name. I always loathed it- especially when Richard said it in his gentleman-sounding voice. Though, he never did anything openly suspicious, being cunning in every way. Now, to anyone else, he would seem like a respectable, friendly man, with a outward appearance of a business man. Though after the stunt he pulled from the shadows on the whole Square not too long ago-He’s capable of anything. I sighed, trying to act cool, and unoffended with the use of ‘Miss Rose’, saying “, what are you planning this time, Richard?” If Richard is there, something is amiss. Usually his doing. My thought- I have chosen a good time to be here. After all, it isn’t every day you’d see a supposed Phenomenon that was created by an human.

~~~Wrote this one about, two months ago?

Now for the next one-

Vera Rose, a first thought materialized. Throbbing pain echoed throughout my body. Find yourself, the revelation continued. Fingers twitched, as I proceeded, barely newborn to my own flesh. I curled at the pain, once again. ‘The tearing pain….I can’t take it much longer!’ I clenched my teeth tightly, trying to keep from the urge to scream. After minutes, the unbearable pain abruptly stopped, leaving a throbbing numbness everywhere. To me, everything seemed alien-like, though there was only one absolute fact- My memory was at a blank, except for Vera Rose, which as far as I think, was my name…..For now, I need to grasp my situation. I found my legs, and weirdly twitched them when I managed to do so. It was strange, and completely new to me, but at the same time, I knew how to move. After some time, I finally found my own body, and rolled over to my back- I had been laying face down the whole time. The sky was pale, with only a slight tint of icy blue. It felt although my body was numb, but there was a sharp feeling throughout it, an ever growing uncomfortable feeling. Coldness? I barely found the strength to lift my hand, to see them a bluish unnatural color. I had to find warmth. I needed to find some sort of source of heat, or I was going to freeze. To Death. After a minute of awkward attempts to stand, I won, standing up, leaning on my left foot, afraid I was going to lose balance in a brink of time. The air was still, and not a sound was amiss. I studied the area surrounding, my eyes weary, found nothing, my vision blurring.

There is only emptiness. Hope sparked as I caught sight of a cave-like hole several yards away. I extended my right foot, placing my bare pad of my feet firmly in front of me. Then my left. The procedure was fairly easy. The pale ground crunched, it seeming like sand, though it felt although it ice, sending spikes of biting coldness throughout my half-numb feet. In truth, I was already getting used to the feeling, being, other than the waves of pain, was my first feeling. Soon, I reached the cave, gazing into its entrance, I felt tired already. I took a slip forward then- I flipped suddenly, slipping right across the ice sand, into the hole. When I finally stopped sliding, I lifted my head. Even though it a small change, the air was somewhat less colder, though the icy sting still lingered. Strange light illuminated the cave, and it showed that the cave was cozy enough- having no deeper tunnels. Except for a complex ivory construct- around my size.

A painful thought came to my mind. It is a skeleton, of a living thing. Someone like me. But dead. I gulped, my throat stung at the movement. Wincing, I stared at the skeleton, decaying clothing wrapped around it, its eyes sunken and deep, though it felt although it could spring to life any moment even though it was completely lifeless. A shiver raced down my spine, both from the coldness, and the still pile of bones. I looked down, and realized I was like a savage, clothes less. A brief muse went through my mind- maybe I am. But I shook my head, and with shivering fingers grasped the clothing of the skeleton. I froze, expecting the skeleton to move, moments went by, but it didn’t. I let out a huge sigh, beginning to think I was very dumb, or just extremely paranoid. After a minute, I tugged the last of the brown robe off the skeleton. Doubtlessly, I thought it was quite disgusting taking clothing from a skeleton, though it was either that or let the icy air reach me, and then literally freezing me to death- the skeleton had a fine layer of ice on it, a fine example…..Though in some ways, it said that the person was doomed to cold’s grasp, regardless of a thick robe. Soon after slipping the large robe on, I crawled to the far end of the cave, as far as possible from the dead guy.

The newer ones aren't quite that new either.....Weird thing is, when I used to just write randomly, not thinking to be a author....I was so good at it.

(Is posting three stories cheating? But I don't expect full reviews.)

The strange thing is, back then when I never read at all, I wrote stories correctly....

But seriously, then a story seemed to be so easy to write-but I just realized something. Now it is really hard for me to concentrate on writing. Anyone have any inspiration to spare? Tips?

Weird thing is-Since I've gotten a new laptop (one reason is for writing) I've gotten even worst.

Maybe it has to do with not sitting at a desk.....And I'm quite serious about that.)

Anyways....I'd like to have my old inspiration back, not a urge to go write when I have nothing to write. Its like my brain melted....(Nah, because I still get As and Bs without glancing back at a lesson). Maybe I lost my imagination! *Gasps*

(Sorry for my endless babbling, but writing this stuff is helping to make it clearer to me)