Suddenly the whole world had changed. From the dense blackness the sky on the horizon opened up, as a breeze, singing like the notes of a distant pipe, blew gently on the treacle night.
The horizon greened, grew lighter, and glowed. Oranges and pinks reflected of early morning clouds, as the alien sun rose over the side of the planet, majestically reminding the trees of its existence.
The trees knew, and remembered. The grasses at their mighty roots whispered to each other, and the piping breeze hushed them with caressing hands of air. The white fruits, plump and womb-shaped, swelled slightly as the yellow-green light, like warm syrup, rolled onto each one, warming their outer skin, encouraging them, for their time was soon.
The breeze stirred the mists over the threaded rivers, and it lifted the to the green sky, rising to join the other clouds. The green glow began to subside, letting the more persistent yellow take over the nurturing of the fruit.
Slowly, at midday, a large, white fruit split open, and a white bundle fell to the ground. The breeze helped the grasses cushion its fall, and let it alone.
The white thing unfolded, stretching its long limbs out in every direction, its head coming up and shaking the blue mane of hair free. The lids opened to reveal orbs of brown and green, and the world changed again.
12/12 Excellent imagery. You have a mature way of letting the details unfold slowly in a detailed format.
By Caro Geelen, aged 14, English class. Every short story I write still sounds like the beginning of an epic novel. This one was inspired by a short story by Anne McCaffrey from one of her anthologies.