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This is where I will post all of my stories and such. The first three posts are chapters from a story I'm writind called Visions.

I was only five years old when the first event happened. My parents and I were going to Aunt Katie's wedding on an airplane. I heard them casually mention that the flight was "Flight 892 to Boston".
Suddenly, I knew we couldn't board that plane. Call it brattiness, attitude, whatever you want. I just knew we couldn't go.
I imagined it striking the ground, and everybody bursting into flames. We would not survive, no matter how much safety equipment there was on the plane.
Being a typical five-year-old, I bugged my parents about it. "Mom! DAD! We can't go on there!" I told them.
Dad brushed me off. "Mandy, darling, that plane's perfectly safe. In fact, we made sure we went on one of the safest airlines, just so you'd be fine."
"No! It's gonna crash! I don't wanna die!"
Then it was Mom's turn. "Dear, this airline has a 99.992 percent safety rating. Only eight planes out of every hundred thousand crash. I know you don't know how big that is, but it's big enough to be reasonably safe."
"I'm telling you, we'll be one of those eight!" I said. Since neither of them were listening or paying particular attention to me- or so I thought- I rushed down the hall.
That caught their attention. "MANDY! You're going to make us late! We'll miss Katie's wedding!"
I didn't care. I kept running, pausing only to run in a different direction when my parents were looking elsewhere. They'd think I was cornered, but I'd sneak off in a different direction or run between their legs.
After many minutes of this, I slowed down and let myself get caught. If I continued, they'd only get more angry.
After hearing a stern lecture about airplane safety and misbehavior- most of which I didn't understand- they grabbed my hand as tightly as they could without breaking my fingers and ran to our gate. We got there only to see the airplane taking off.
Mom glared at me as only a mother can do and said sternly, "Now we'll miss Katie's wedding!" It was worse than anything she could have said.

As it turned out, we didn't miss Aunt Katie's wedding, but we had to go on a flight an hour later. Most of that time was spent with my parents eating, drinking, and talking up a storm. Whenever I tried to get a bit of food or made a comment, they'd jerk my hand away or ignore me. Although I did feel a little lonely, I never was remorseful. Being ignored is better than dying.
A few days into our vacation, just after my aunt married some guy I didn't know named Earl, my dad was reading the local paper and remarked, "Hey, look here. It says some plane meant to arrive here crashed a couple days ago. In fact, it was the same day we left."
I stuck my head in the paper, trying to see what he was talking about. All I saw was a bunch of long words I didn't know and a picture of a burning plane- it looked a little like the one I had envisioned.
Mom winked at him- as though I didn't see it- and said, "Hey, humor Mandy. What flight was it?"
Dad checked the paper, ruffling around needlessly. After a minute or so, his face became pale, and his eyes were unfocused. He said, somewhat scaredly, "F-flight 892. The one she thought would crash."
Of course, I was nice enough not to brag.

ooh...very interesting! I'll be waiting for more! 3nodding

Before fourth grade got out, I had a best friend. Her name was Erin, and she had fiery red hair and calm green eyes. We were outcasts from the normal school society- me because of my "psychic stuff", Erin because her house burned down five years ago. Over some time, we became good friends.
In the summer between fourth and fifth grade, Erin showed me this "psychic test" she had discovered on the Internet. I took it, trying not to notice her peeking at my answers over my shoulder. The test said that I was "moderately psychic". (I really have taken a psychic test online, and it said the same thing about me.) Of course, I made Erin take it right afterwards, and it said the same thing about her. We discarded it, thinking it said the same junk to everybody, and began to forget what it had said. Maybe we shouldn't have.
In fifth grade, my dreams started to change subtly. This will sound odd, I'm sure, but my dreams weren't silly things that could never happen in reality anymore. They became more real, more lifelike. Some featured my dad talking with somebody I later learned was his boss. Others featured complete strangers who I met later on. It creeped me out a little, but I always made an attempt to remember my dreams. Soon after this started, I told Erin about one I had with her in it.
I walked up to her during recess, not saying anything. She asked me, "What's up?"
I paused, reflected, and then said, "I had a dream which you were in. It sounded like you were going to die or something."
Erin laughed- really laughed. I glared at her, and she stopped, wondering why I was so angry. She replied, "Well, dreams are dreams- it's not like they're real. Heck, I had a dream where you killed a hippo with your bare hands once."
I sighed. "It's not like that." The dream was short and vague, but I can still remember it...
Erin and a man in white clothes with a stethoscope (Is that how you spell it?) around his neck stood on a white background. Erin looked sad and stressed out. The doctor said, "The disease is incurable."
Erin started bawling.
The doctor obliviously continued, "We will have to..."
That's when I woke up.
I told Erin about it, emphasizing how real it had been, how lifelike it was. Eventually, she said, "I understand, but still- dreams don't come true." We changed the subject.
That conversation was mostly forgotten, although I still wondered whether Erin was right, whether my dreams were dreams or something... more. It startled me when, two weeks later, Erin brought the idea to my attention again.
She was distressed, and you could see that she had been crying. Her chin was still slightly wet. She plopped down on a recess bench and hid her face.
I walked over to her and lifted her hands. She grinned, but still looked sad. I asked her, "What happened? What's wrong?"
Erin looked down and said, with as little emotion as possible, "You know my kitten Smokey? You know him, the little ball of fluff that lives in my bedroom."
I nodded. I knew who he was, but I didn't really know him. Once I thought he was an energetic, playful kitten, he started being quiet and calm.
Erin gulped and said, "We took him to the vet about his being tired and all, and..."
"And?"
"And he has some really bad disease. Feline lymphosoma or something. We had to put him to sleep!" She started crying again.
I patted her on the back and said, "It's alright. I mean, it's not really alright, but there are worse things." However, I started thinking- was this from my dreams after all?

Here's one of three stories that I did while I was bored in religious school a couple weeks ago. There are two things going on, so it's sorta confusing at first.

Angel was no angel, despite her white clothes, despite her friendly acts. She had seen horrible things, things she would never forget. No matter how long she lived, she would never forget them...
She stood silently behind a grave, afraid to move for fear of being seen. She could easily be their next victim...
Angel had seen too much of what happened at night. The twilight hours scared her, frightened her. The shadows were coming...
Men and women gathered in the graveyard's center. All of them wore raven-black robes and bright green pendants. They gathered in a circle...
Angel, unlike most people, was not afraid of death. No, death was not the worst they could do to her if they found out. She was afraid of torture, of betrayal...
Their leader, in the middle of the circle, held up a newborn baby with bright blue eyes to the full moon. He was trusting and unafraid. What they would do was just too cruel, too evil...
Angel feared the darkness like a little kid, but for a different reason. Children thought that there were boogeymen and monsters that came for them during the night. Angel knew of the real monsters...
It was over in seconds. After the chanting, the baby didn't move, didn't live. The perfect murder had just been committed- and it happened every month...
The horrors were never forgotten, and they never left Angel's mind. Angel knew she must stop the shadow people, almost as if it were destined. But if she tried, she could be the next sacrifice.

If you could seperate each paragraph with a blank line, it would make reading your work a LOT easier. Easier encourages more people to read!

Try to avoid the word was and all forms of it. Usually there is a better way to describe things than just "she was this" or "she was here."

Good story ideas. Your form can use some work, though. ^^

NOTE FROM PUP: When writing a story, you are not supposed to have spaces in between the paragraphs unless you're going into a different point of view or a completely different idea. (see the "Publishing" thread)

As for you, Elvane, I love your writing and I think you should have some of your work published. Wasn't that you who's already had a book or two published? I want to read it/them!!! Mind giving me the titles? lol (If it wasn't you...sorry. I'm not good with remembering people too well.)