Hey, I may be a teenager, but I do know that I can write. For example, here is something I wrote(slightly inspired by Going Postal by Terry Prachett
):
Blood poured rapidly from the Havor’s wounds. He was in a snow drift, trying to cover his wound with the cold ice powder. The blade had cut across his stomach. He was luck to be still alive, even though he knew death was not that far off.
His blonde hair was dragging across the ground as pain coursed through his torso. His green cloak was covered with the dark red substance, splotched with the blood. His clothes, which used to be the envy of his peers, were stained. Then he coughed. More blood on the snow. His vision felt blurry, and then darkness over came him.
Then a light came into sight. A strange man, robed in white, was standing. His beard and hair of gold fell down across his robes. The room was plain and white. Havor stood in the middle of it all, stripped of clothing. He then heard a voice from all around him.
“Havor, guess why you are here?” it said. The blonde man quivered. It was deep and mellow, yet struck with a deep menacing tone, like a teacher or parent. Havor, whose voice was normally broad and masculine, squeaked out in a pathetic voice his message.
“I died, and you’re… you’re going to judge me? On my life and…and morality?” he pronounced. It was useless, really, when an all-powerful godly entity is talking to you to sound as tough as you want to. It is like a mouse trying to intimidate a lion. Breakfast.
The voice then answered,” No…not exactly, but I am giving you a second chance.”
Havor, who probably is smarting then you might think, then said,” Oh, I see. It is like one of those stories where a bloke dies, pops of to another dimension, and has to fix his life from a certain point?”
The being then said, “very good, Havor. You know more than the usual type I get. How about we make a deal: I dump you back on Earth if you do something.”
“Oh god, no!”Said Havor in anguish, “I will not do your tasks. Anyway, have you ever been in a carriage to Windsor during a snow storm? I don’t think so. It is awful. You’re stuck in the snow with nothing but a lorry driver for company. It’s hell, mate. Not only does he complain about the winter before, he is also so damn inconsiderate of your interest. I don’t want to hear about how the ‘orses wouldn’t budge till some bloke came along and cleared the snow. Every time the geezer just seems to be moaning on an’ on till I ‘ave to slap him across the face to release him from the trance and tell him I don’t need to listen to every one of those boring stories. Anyway, but my clothes back on. I feel stupid being naked in front of this weirdo.”
He saw a bland, white tunic on the floor and put it on. The cloth was linen; he smiled. Linen was nice. Then Havor saw the man was suddenly looking at him with great intent. Havor touched the robe and suddenly felt a strange feeling as if cold water had sprayed him. He shuddered and jumped back. The strange robed figure with the gold hair then disappeared, leaving Havor alone. Then he blacked out for no reason what so ever.
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