I can't say my writing has improved.

Oh be still, my beating heart.

Yeah...

So here's the run-down of today's post. This is a little snippet from that fan-fiction I wrote back in high school. It's a bit shit, but I never guaranteed anyone that any of the postings on this blog would be even industrial toilet-paper quality.

Also, note how my name is markedly different to the girl character's name in this story. 'Lucie' and 'Lucy' are soooo different, I really don't know where the comparison comes from...

Why am I showing you? I don't know, really. Run along now...


--~--
Marat was lounging in the afternoon sun on a rather uncomfortable chair in his hotel room when a knock at the door interrupted his thoughts. Lucie stood grinning expectantly at him when he opened the door.

'Lucie... Hi,' he said, allowing her in. She stepped into the room, turning around to face him once the door was closed with the same look on her face.

'Hello Marat.' Her face resumed the look once again.

'Uhh...' Marat started, scratching his head absent mindedly with his injured arm. 'As much as it is great to see you, I wonder why you are here?' he enquired, glancing down at the mangled clump of paper she held at her chest. 'What's that?'

Lucie thrust it into his stomach before walking back a few steps. He squinted at the blotched ink that held his thoughts from a week ago.

'Heidi found this amongst my washing,' Lucie explained.

'Oh, did she?' Marat flicked his eyes up to her face.

'Yeah,' Lucie said. There was a slight pause. 'Well, what do you think?' she asked impatiently.

Marat said nothing, instead concentrating on paper.

'Marat...' Lucie said warningly. 'Do you intend on answering me soon?'

'Are you sure -' He started.

'YES! Of course I'm sure,' Lucie interrupted, thinking she knew what the question was.

'No, no... I was going to ask you whether you're sure my writing looks like that,' he said. Lucie's face lost all emotion.

'What do you mean?'

'Oh, I mean -' Marat tried to keep a straight face, but then became immersed in a fit of laughter. Lucie shot him a dirty look. 'I'm sorry, that was too funny.'

'You won't be laughing if you do that again. I will rip your stitches out,' Lucie said threateningly looking down at his side. 'How are the stitches going?'

Marat lifted up his shirt to show her. 'Sore,' he said truthfully.

' -And your arm?'

'Also sore, but I'll survive,' he replied. 'Just wait a second, I'll be back,' he left the lounge room to get something from his bedroom.

Lucie sat down on the nearest chair to wait, but was standing again five seconds later as Marat carried in a bouquet of tulips and something behind his back.

'Now, since I'm a man of style -' Marat began, but Lucie cut across him.

'Pfft. Style?' she poked her tongue out.

'Gosh, you have an argument for everything,' he laughed. 'Still, since we're going on my opinion today...'

Lucie smiled sweetly.

'The giving of tulips equates to style,' Marat explained.

'What does the giving of a ring equate to then?'

'Who said I was giving you a ring?'

Lucie narrowed her eyes. 'Stitches,' she warned.

'Okay, okay,' Marat said, handing the tulips to Lucie. He proceeded to open the ring box that he had hidden behind his back and showed her the engagement band. 'The giving of a ring, in this case, equates to a proposition.'

'Which would be?' Lucie asked, still pretending to be coy, through her grin was growing bigger.

'Lucie, I'm supposed to be asking the questions,' he said and cleared his throat. 'Lucie Mediva, will you do me the honour of becoming my wife?'

Lucie tried to laugh, but instead a tear seeped down her cheek.

'Going back on this idea of your opinion as the only one that matters today,' she began, 'what would you recommend I say?'

'Well, I'm hoping you'll say ”yes”.'
--~--

- That is the end of the excerpt.

In conclusion:

My writing at 15 > Stephanie Meyer's writing.