menulis Need saran

Queendudette posted on Oct 02, 2013 at 11:28PM
I have had this story stuck in my head for years now and the other day I actually sat down at my laptop and started writing.
Now I have done short stories for school and things like that but never something like this.
I have no real experience of writing and have no idea if what I have written is any good, makes any sense or is just sounds totally stupid and I just should just laugh at myself for even typing it out.
But I really want to just write this story so here is what I have written so any helpful tips would be greatly appreciated
Thank you.

She stood there; the ice cold wind snapped her shoulder length hazelnut hair around her face and neck; just stood there and stared out into the limitlessness of the ocean. If anyone looked at me now she thought, they would think I was sad, standing at the edge of a shore where the soggy sunken sand met the greeting waves of the sea. Why else would she be stood there she thought, with a vague expression on their face and eyes lost in thought.
Her Dad had brought her to Whitecoast beach with her brother and sister for her 16th birthday. What a prat Rachel thought, it’s the middle of February and the beach was deserted due to the insanely cold weather that surrounded the coast. The arcades that would usually being dancing with lights, noise and people, were dark, dank and closed for the winter , the fair that stood in all its proud glory just behind the stone wall that span the entire length of the beach looked like it had been abandoned. But here they all were, freezing, wet, sand grating between their toes and most of all…laughing. It had been such a fun day, eating ice creams, yes ice creams, buying buckets and spades, looking for starfish, trying desperately and failing miserably to fly a cheap kite. Her dad knew exactly how to make the day special even if she wasn't 5 years old anymore. She glazed back to her family and felt proud to be a part of it, not that she would ever admit that to them.
“Let others have big glitzy parties with everyone but the Queen being there for their sweet 16’s I’ll take this over them any day” she smiled to herself not realising it would be her last happy birthday.
It was all over as soon as it began Rachel thought. She place her hands on each side of the front passenger seat of her Dads blue Vauxhall Safia, pulled herself up and turned herself to the right “I can’t believe how fast today has gone” she moaned to big sister Katie, “Can you?” Katie with her long ebony hair, smooth white skin and narrow brown eyes, leaned her slender frame forward so she could talk to Rachel, “Yeah I know, but it wasn't half funny, especially when Andrew chased you with that crab” she replied with a hidden laugh in her voice. Andrew then piped up from the middle of car with a triumphant voice “Yeah you ran like a little baby” Andrew the youngest of the Burton family was certainly not the smallest, at 14 years old he towered Rachel by at least 4 inches but his face had kept most his baby features, big brown eyes, pinch-able cheeks and a strong jaw just like his Dad.
“Shut up shrimp” Rachel threw back and slapped his leg. Laughing silently at his long legs and the nickname which had begun when he had entered his growth spout last year. “Ouch!” Andrew cried, “That bloody hurt!” “Who’s the little baby now?” Rachel cooed at him with Katie laughing behind her.
“Alright that’s enough” A warm but warning voice commanded from the driving seat. Rachel father Joe, had a kind, thoughtful face with bright blue eyes and lines that told more than one story rounding the edges. He was a handsome man with equal charm and had a voice that could lull you into sleep but also could stop you in your tracks and make you feel two feet tall without ever shouting. “Rachel, don’t hit your brother, Andrew don’t swear and Katie for the love of god put your seat-belt on!” All Burton children obey their orders with a quiet “sorry” to boot.
The rest of the journey home was a quiet one. Rachel stared out of the window, no one but the Burton's could have such a fun on a such a horrible day thought Rachel, she was remembering Andrew’s crab and even though she had squealed like a baby and ran off she couldn't help but smile now, she looked into the rear view mirror that was tilted away for her Dad’s use not just to keep an eye on the cars behind him but also the 3 terrors he called family. She could see Andrew with a slight frown on his face staring down at his leg, tracing his hand over where she had slapped him; he peered up and saw Rachel looking at him and quickly moved his hand away and turned his head to the window. Rachel suddenly felt uneasy but pushed it aside, she shook her head thinking “what a baby!”
They arrived home thirty minutes after they had left the beach, their house, a detached 3 bedroom was situated right across from St Peter’s and St Paul’s church, it was a simple church dating back to the 1200’s, the grounds in which it sat were surrounded by green metal fencing and a matching gate which faced the entrance to the Burton's driveway. In the day the church looked inviting with its large arched entrance and dark wooden doors, a tower to the west with its clock that always told the right time, windows with sparking clean glass that always looked dirty due to the wooden frames that were falling to pieces after being ravished from all kinds of weather, even the graveyard that covered almost every square inch of the greenery in the grounds looked pleasant in the sunshine, although that was a totally different matter when the sun went down.
Even though Rachel’s house was big, the church make it look three times smaller and made sure that even on the hottest day of the year the sun would never really penetrate the double glazed windows so the house would always feel cold. The Burton household didn't have a number; instead it was called ‘The Willows’, not named by the Burton's but by its former owner, Billy Willow and many stories has circulated after his sudden heart attack which killed him 19 years ago, about the house being haunted, which still to this day kept kids away at Halloween, of course it didn't help being directly across from a graveyard either, not that her Dad had minded “It means less money to spend on sweets and not having to get up and answer the door every five minutes” her Dad would chime every time Rachel would state how embarrassing it was to watch the trick or treats running when they can near her house.
Rachel opened her door and dragged herself out of the car, “Man I am so tired! I think I’m going to have a nap” She yawned. Her dad was already unlocking the door which was located at back of the house. The garden was just a big concrete slab with a gravel road to its right and a red brick wall on the left separating them from the neighbours. The back of the house was a simple design with sliding glass doors that led into the dining room and the only door to the house a few meters away leading to a utility room then the kitchen. Rachel followed her dad inside throwing her coat on top of the washing machine much to her Dad’s displeasure. “Rachel” her Dad sighed “The coat rack is right there” he said pointing to the heap of coats bulging from the wall which looked more like a family of 15 lived here. “But it got sand all over it and something on the back that I don’t even want to know about” Rachel groaned looking down at a greenish stain at the bottom of her favorite black Next mac. “It needs washing Dad.” She said with a sheepish grin “You mean I need to wash it” Her dad shot back with a frown. “Well every time I go near this thing you bark at me to stay away so it’s your own fault that you need to wash it” Rachel crossed her arms in triumph. Katie and Andrew joined them inside and looked at Rachel with a disapproving scowl “Or I know you’re to absent minded to ever learn how to use that thing properly so I save myself the pain of trying and paying out for a new one because you have broken it.” Katie and Andrew burst into laughter “Nice one Dad!” They yelled in unison and followed him into the kitchen leaving Rachel alone and defeated in the utility room.

menulis No balasa