I have uploaded three stories so far, and I've only had my account for a week. I'm actually going through my old documents and posting random things on here that some of you might find interesting. This story was one I did for creative writing class a while ago, so it isn't brilliant, but... Knock yourselves out. Apologies for the clicheness.

Disclaimer: I own... ALL OF THIS! :D

"But Kimmy, she doesn't like me."

For the last five minutes (according to my new Spiderman watch), Kimmy and I had been going back and forth about our new teacher, Miss McDowell. I thought she was mean; Kimmy thought she was nice.

We were walking home along a big road, being careful to look both ways before crossing a street. Kimmy and I lived right next to each other so we always walked home together.

"Sammy, Miss McDowell let us play on the big kids playground. Our old teacher never let us go on the big kids playground,'' Kimmy insisted, crossing her arms and making a mad face.

"She made me stay in at lunch for talking, and I promised I wasn't. Jack pinched me, so I told him to stop. It was unfair!" I cried.

Kimmy still looked doubtful. It didn't really matter whether she was a good teacher or not. I couldn't do anything about it, but I wanted to prove I was right.

"Come on, Kimmy, you saw her being mean to Jeff, didn't you? She yelled at him, and he started crying, 'member?"

After a while she finally let her shoulders drop and stopped making the mad face.

"Fine. I guess she was a bit mean. Just remember, if Jack pinches you again, tell him to stop with an inside voice, okay?"

"Okay, but if I get told off again, I'm telling Mummy," I sniffed.

I held the torch underneath my face, talking in a spooky voice. "The ghost told the little girl to run, and the girl said no, so then the ghost ate her!" I told her, trying to make it seem as scary as possible.

Kimmy shivered, looking around at the thin tent walls. The wind was howling around us, but the warm blankets and chocolate chip cookies kept us warm. Because no one can deny that chocolate chip cookies make you feel warm and fuzzy inside.

"Oooh, is Kimmy scared of ghosts? BOO!" I shouted, laughing as Kimmy jumped.

"Don't!" she screamed. Kimmy burrowed into the blankets to hide.

I stopped laughing abruptly, looking at her in confusion. "Kimmy? Kimmy, what's wrong?" I asked, worried.

As I spoke, the sound of thunder filled the air like a thousand soldiers marching in unison. Lightening cast demonic shadows on the walls and I flinched.

I listened closely, realizing Kimmy was crying. The sound of her sobbing was quiet, but the blanket was trembling.

"Kimmy, why are you crying?" I pleaded, shaking her. She sat up, looking at me with wide and watery eyes.

"The... The storm is scary. I don't like it!" She cried.

We were both silent for a few moments. I looked at her and took in her small, shaking frame, and pulled her against me. Kimmy jumped a little, but hugged me back.

"Don't be scared, Kimmy. I'm going to be here forever and ever. The storm only happens in the sky. I'll keep you safe, 'kay?" I promised, kissing her forehead lightly.

"Forever and ever?" Her eyes were shining baubles in the dim light of the tent.

"Forever and ever."

This is so boring.

Kim's usual scrawl marred the paper. We were in class doing maths exercises and we weren't aloud to talk. She was seated three desks away, giving me a cheeky grin. I glanced quickly towards the teacher and scribbled a reply.

If I get in trouble for this, I'm posting flyers for a new best friend at the shops.

I folded it into a small paper plane and, taking one last look at the teacher, ditched it at Kim. It hit her in the side of the face and she glared at me before opening it. She laughed silently and wrote a hasty reply.

Kim threw it back with a good amount of force but I was ready for it. I snatched it out of the air and stuck my tongue out at her. We had both become quite adept at throwing tiny paper projectiles

You wouldn't last five seconds without me! Besties forever, right?

I rolled my eyes and tossed back a reply.

And who is it that cheats off me in EVERY math test they decide to torture us with? I'm the guy who got you through year four.

The teacher looked up at me suspiciously and I pretended to be hypnotically focused on my work. The note went flying, skidding across Kim's desk. It fell to the floor silently. Kim twisted around the side of the desk and picked it up, studying it.

Our little air conversation went on happily for about fifteen minutes of pure bantering.

Yeah, but eleven years old, and there's not an English assignment you've done without me!

I guess we call it even?

Forever the peacekeeper, Sam. I don't think you're capable of vindictive thought.

Thus, the question of why I even hang out with you becomes apparent, you violent child.

Shuddup. You love me for it! (This note was accompanied by a smiley face sticking it's tongue out at me).

Very mature.

'Kim, Samuel, you look like you are enjoying yourselves throughly. Care to enlighten us about the topic?"

I flushed, but Kim didn't know when to stop.

"Don't worry, it was just a bit of ranting about my blatant immaturity." She flashed a cheeky smile and I shook my head in dismay.

As you can imagine, we spent lunch in detention.

"This is all your fault. You know that, right?" Kim said while her mother dragged a nit comb through her hair. Sticky white foam dripped down her neck, her hair soaked in it.

"Hey, I got rid of them. It's not my fault the little buggers like you," I told her smugly.

She folded her arms and averted her eyes.

"Stay still!" her mother, Cassandra, told her. Cassandra gave her a light whack across the shoulder which Kim shrugged off carelessly.

"You're the one tearing out strands of my hair!"

I laughed, watching the mother and daughter bickering with faint amusement. They were exactly alike, both with the same green eyes and bronze hair. The attitude they shared was a constant source of angst for me. Every time I pulled a stunt they didn't like, I was immediately ganged up on and forced to watch a chick flick. Not that I have a problem with watching movies with my friend, but watching The Devil Wears Prada for the third time was nothing short of torture.

My day dreaming was interrupted by the sound of Kim screeching.

"No! I'm not sitting through any more of this!" Kim stood up, ignoring her mother's protests. She ran quickly to the bathroom, slamming it shut behind her.

"I'm not coming out until that horrible stuff is in my possession. I'm warning you, this is a hostage situation! Mum, if I don't get the lice stuff delivered to me by Sam within the next twenty minutes, all your bath salts are getting poured down the sink. This will be my last form of communication. If the demand is not met, I shall carry out this evil deed with glee. Am I clear?"

Cassandra sighed and handed me the bottle.

"Knock knock, I'm home." Kim's voice from the hallway caught my attention. I was only half dressed, my jeans taking up most off my ensemble, shirt unbuttoned.

The door flew open with a bang, and Kim marched in, flopping down onto the bed.

"Oi, no slamming doors in my house young lady," my mum, Violet, yelled from downstairs, though it wasn't serious.

"Yes mum!" Kim shouted back. Kim had come over my house so many times that my mum and dad were like a second set of parents to her.

My room at a glance was just splashes of colour. Music and art were both displayed on every available space. A guitar on a stand owned the corner, while paintings decorated the wall. Posters of my favourite musicians above my bed, the desk beside it a mess of paper, pencils, paints and other artistic tools.

I stared at Kim in shock for a moment. "Get out! And have you ever heard of knocking?" I exclaimed.

"Apparently not," she said, giving me a knowing look. "Besides, I've been around since you ran around blow-up kiddy pools in the nude."

"I'm fourteen, not six! Don't come into my room like that, woman," I said incredulously.

"Well," she smiled devilishly, "you don't seem to be in any hurry to cover yourself up." Her eyes were trained on my chest, which had yet to be hidden. I blushed, glaring at her, and started doing up the buttons.

"Oh, shut up. At least I respect people's privacy!"

She giggled. "Sam, you don't have any privacy. Not from me, anyway. You are my open book, to play with as I see fit."

"And you are my faithful punching bag, always there when the world makes me want to hit things," I smirked.

Kim gasped in a mockery of disgust. "You can't hit girls," she argued.

"Because your just the queen of girlishness in your torn jeans and BOYS t-shirt," I said dryly.

She pouted, but her eyes glittered with childish happiness.

Even the sky seemed to be weeping. Rain became deep puddles on the floor. The water flowed down the gently sloping hill in little rivers that filled every crevice in the ground. The light was dim, a grey haze taking over the air.

Kimmy would have loved it.

There was no thunder the disrupt the silence, no lightening to break the sky. Just endless rain, falling and falling until the ground swallowed it up.

Everyone dressed in black. Kimmy would have laughed at them all, saying that black was a dreary colour. She would have told them all to dress in rainbow colours to make it look pretty.

But Kimmy wasn't here anymore.

The coffin looked out of place. It was white. Pure white. All the grey and all the black. And then white. It was blinding, but my eyes were trained on it. I knew what was inside.

A shell.

Whatever had made Kimmy who she was had disappeared. It hadn't faded, or slipped away. It was torn out of her, leaving nothing but a lifeless body behind.

Music was playing.

It was a song I knew well. She had showed it to me once before, insisting that it be played at her funeral. I don't think she realized it would be played so soon. 'Seven Spanish Angels.' She said she liked it because it told a story. It wasn't just thrown together mindlessly like so many of the modern songs played today. It was a country song, and she listened to it all the time.

But she wasn't here to do that anymore.

Her mum was crying. She hadn't stopped since it happened. It was funny really, that such a small mistake had taken her away. A freak accident. The road was slippery from so much rain the night before. The car slid off the road and she was walking home alone that day. I had been sick, at home waiting for her to come back from school. For years, ever since the first day she saw me with a cold, she would worry about me until I was okay again.

The speeches were over. Members of her family had stood up and said their piece, every one of them in tears. They told stories about her life, about her attitude, about how happy she always was. But I only caught hints of it.

When it was time to bury her, everyone took a bluebell a let it fall into the grave. She took a trip to England once, and said she was enchanted by the bluebell woods she saw. Her room was a collage of blue and violet. She told me that she snuck out of the hotel they were staying in. It was early in the morning, and she made her way down the the nearby forest. She stayed there for an hour, just watching the morning light dance across the forest floor.

The bluebells fell, along with handfuls of sand. All the while, memories played out behind my eyes like silent films. The simplest things, all forming the same picture. Different colours and different patterns becoming one undeniable truth. Kimmy was gone.

Forever and ever.