Story

I wrote my very first real plot-driven story sometime during my 6th grade year. I remember it because it made me sad, I remember that it had an orange aura and it made me sad.

It was called The Lost Raindrop:

This little raindrop landed on the window of a blue and white trailer in
Bunnlevel. She slowly zigged and zagged across the glass trying to find her
sisters and mother, joining and then leaving small groups, but they were gone.

Inside of the window, the lost raindrop saw a little girl. She had wild
curly hair and big brown eyes. She was cutting velvet into strips and was
surrounded by yellow paper triangles. The little girl looked out the window,
searching for something. The lost raindrop saw she was alone.

Then, the little girl went running to the window and smiled, revealing the
gap between her front two teeth. The lost raindrop saw an old blue pinto station
wagon pull up. A dark man with thick black hair and small hands was
driving. When the little girl saw him, she started to cry.

This helped the lost raindrop to forget her own sadness. But, she was
slowly streaking to the bottom of the window. She did not want to leave the
little girl alone. She knew that the little girl's happiness was not in that
blue pinto. She tried to open her mouth to the little girl, but she had no
mouth, no voice to yell with.

The little girl scooped up all her strips and triangles and crawled
under the kitchen table.

The lost raindrop slid off the glass, landing in the crease between the
window and the pleated wall of the trailer. There were other raindrops there...
lots of them... but not her sisters and mother. The lost raindrop swam to the
edge to fall out, but she kept getting pushed under by all the new
raindrops.

It was hard for the lost raindrop to understand her new home, but there
were lots of other raindrops to watch, so she didn't notice when the sun came
out. Slowly, the other raindrops began to disappear until she was the only
raindrop left. She looked up and noticed a rainbow of neon colors, then she
blacked out.

The next day, the sad little girl strung her velvet strips with bells and
then glued them to the paper triangles. She made her very own wind chime, one
that made soft jingles. She raised the window and hung this chime over the sill.
When the wind hit it, she would hear those tiny bells and smile.