My real name is Rachel, I'm 15 and live in the U.K.
For as long as I can remember I enjoyed writing and recently my short stories and fan fics have been piling up. Though a friend I found out about this website, so I thought I would share some of my stories.

My Favourite Films -
The Matrix Trilogy
X-Men + X2
The Lord of the Rings Trilogy

My Favourite Books -
Lord of the Rings
Catch 22
1984
Dracula
Hitchhikers Guide of the Galaxy

My Favourite Authors -
J.R.R. Tolkien
George Orwell
Joseph Heller

An example of my work, it was a short story I had to write for a school last year.

The summer sunshine gently warmed the dried turf; the once fertile soil beneath crumbled into a fine powdery dust. The great expanse of grass covered a long sloping meadow, a sparse thicket created a border on the left. The chirping of crickets filled the air, as did the ear-piercing screech of magpies. Their contrasting plumage stood out like a sore thumb against the arid backdrop.
Opposite the dying forest ran a wooden fence, the white paint flaked off the pine timber posts. Long wispy shoots grew up from the protection of the thick support, but they would soon die in the heat. A large hawk swooped down from the turquoise sky, grasping a limp rodent in its sharp beak. Extending both talons it landed on the top railing with ease and grace, arching its short neck, the tawny bird plucked the mouse from its sharp beak with one of its talons. A shrill scream filled the atmosphere, exposing the pink interior of the hawk’s beak. Deep-set eyes gazed across the meadow, first making sure nothing could disturb its meal, the hawk began to rip at the corpse. Crimson blood coated the hard beak, droplets of the life giving liquid began to land on the chipped paint, staining the lacquer before trickling down the planks. The flesh was torn from the rodent carcass, quickly revealing the vital organs of the small mammal. In minutes the mouse had been consumed; only the blood told the world of the rodent’s existence.
Raising its small head, the hawk’s mahogany feathers became ruffled as a light gust swept through the grassland. The inhabitants welcomed the refreshing breeze, but all good things come to an end as the shimmering heat reigned once more.
A faint whistling sound could be heard, gradually getting stronger and stronger. The noise startled the hawk, causing it to spread his majestic wings and take off into the vast sky. Gaining more and more speed the bird soon became nothing more than a pinprick, hovering above. The strange tune seemed to be coming from a silhouetted figure, wandering across the rounded ridge of the meadow. As it continued down the slope more and more features became visible. The silhouette of a man, his tanned face smeared with dirt, his faded lime coloured eyes were focused on the ground. Not really looking where he was going, the man nearly tripped over an exposed tree root. Realising it would be safer for him to wake from his daydream he soon snapped back into reality and continued on. Still humming the same old tune, he strolled beside the flaked fence. Raising his gaze from the dusty earth, a few metres ahead of him, grew an old withered tree. Everything seemed normal, until he approached the dried birch. A strip of torn cloth hung from beneath the trees, stained by various things, one colour more vivid than the others, a vibrant shade of red. The overall clad man stopped to inspect the cloth, but his curiosity eventually got the better of him. Extending his arm, he gently tugged on the material; a sinister surprise rolled down from the blanket.
As the rag hit the ground it unfolded revealing a lifeless body, the face frozen in a state of shock, the slender neck slit several times. Stepping back the male gasped in pure horror, his heart pounding inside his ribcage as shock flooded his body.