The brochure looked too cheesy and I couldn't help but laugh lightly at it, as my parents slid the folded paper towards me. Camp Firewood, my eyes scanned under the large words only to see in small fine print, a camp for talented musicians. A cheerless expression appeared on my face "What is this?" My parents looked at each other "It's a brochure for a camp we thought you would be interested in." I shook my head pushing the paper away like a child who wasn't enjoying their meal at dinner "I don't write..." I lied through my teeth, crossing my arms over my chest. My father lowered his gaze, while my mother turned around, grabbing something off of the kitchen counter, and dropped it in front of me, right on top of the brochure I pushed away. "Then what is this?" Her flat voice questioned. I knew I was screwed right then and there, and there was no chance in getting out of this situation.
*Warning* This story is rated M for particular reasons, for example Sexual content/Sexual Language, Teen Angst/Depression, mild drug use, suggestive self harm and swearing. I don't know if I am missing anything, and if I am I will put warnings in the beginning of the chapter. To add onto these warnings, this didn't actually happen in real life, none of these people met in a camp, I just made it up. Apart from that, please enjoy the story.
(Please keep in mind I wrote this when I was 10-11 years old. It will not be good! Please do not expect something amazing out of this as I had no plan and it ends quite abruptly. Be kind with criticism and keep in mind how young I was!)
There you were.
Standing outside of the bus stop, you pondered whether your parents had really made the right decision.
You've always been an introverted kid - somewhat outcasted by your so called 'peers'.
You never really went outside - and because of this, your parents insisted you went somewhere for the summer.
That's where 'Camp Campbell' came in.
So, here you are, about to step onto a bus sending you straight to this random summer camp you know nothing about.
Oh well..
(Once again, I wrote this when I was 11. This is not my best work. Proceed with caution.)