I want to write nice things again!

Just found my standard grade writing English folio, while writing an essay on death and corruption and the like. Why can't I write pretty innocent things like this anymore?

The Lake Reflected Sun

The sun watched over the city. Tall buildings and busy streets were visible not far away, but the park contained a tranquil atmosphere. Trees and flowers lined the edges, isolating it from the commotion caused by traffic and the hundreds of people who were out enjoying the weather. It was a clear day, not even a cloud spoiled the perfection of the blue sky. Autumn leaves littered the ground for miles around. Red. Gold. Yellow. No two were exactly the same colour or shape, each one similar yet unique. The leaves were not the only indication that autumn had arrived. Children, as they walked home from school, teeth chattering, were all dressed in their matching hat and scarf, with thick jackets fastened right up to the top and huge boots, confirming what everyone already knew. Winter was approaching.

Continuing to gaze over the town, the sun illuminated the lake, making each water droplet gleam like a tiny diamond. Everything was still and calm and onlookers could see the few ducks, that had dared to venture out on such a cold day, bobbing happily up and down, seemingly without a care in the world. As people watched, it appeared nothing could be more peaceful...

All of a sudden a tremendous sound reverberated through the air. It was the sound of a thousand cymbals being hit at once, echoing all around as if the gods had placed giant speakers in the sky. Frantic movement erupted down below. Children ran screaming; dogs began to bark; astonished gasps could be heard from people sitting on the benches surrounding the lake, where there were now ripples. The ground shook and everyone closed their eyes, terrified of what was to follow. But the fear soon turned to laughter as they saw the jet. Gazing upwards, onlookers could see it whizzing through the sky, leaving behind it a wispy white trail. It was as if someone had deliberately spoiled its perfection by taking a pen and drawing a line straight through the middle.
The sun too looked shaken by the experience as its golden rays shone, but without any warmth: only light.

In addition to the ducks - which still swam unperturbed, the only ones not to have been affected by the noise - a boat on the lake rocked gently on the water. Inside, a solitary fisherman sat with his rod, seemingly engrossed in the movement of the water, though in truth he knew there would be no fish that day. If he was honest, it was just a way to escape from the harsh reality of city life. The traffic and crowds were too much to handle and a quiet journey to the centre of the lake would be a pleasant way to finish the day.

The traffic was at its peak now. Cars, buses and taxis fought for supremacy, trying to overtake each other as the red lights forced them to wait. Some tooted their horns while others sat patiently, used to the monotony of travelling at this time of night. Inside houses, beside the dancing flames of coal fires, lights began to be switched on as workers returned home, exhausted from another busy day in town. Wonderful smells of food escaped from kitchen windows, mingling in the sharp October air and meeting the noses of hungry children, who ran home swiftly when they were called.

Outside, the light was decreasing. Where earlier the water had glistened in the sunlight, it was now dull and unimpressive. A certain eeriness descended as dark shadows began to appear on the surface and all life had disappeared for the night. The only audible sound was the gentle splashing of oars as the man returned to shore, unsuccessful as he expected.
The day had almost reached its end. Lights began to disappear as suddenly as they had appeared as people settled down for the night, soon to be woken to a new day of repetitive tasks.
Once again the lake was illuminated. Instead of the sun, it was now the moon surveying the scene, its pale ghostly light reflecting off the water as the city slept.

Aww...

I know. I'm going to find more of where this came from, and make myself cry.

And then I'll write an essay on depression to cheer myself up. I'm weird.

Haha, found this, written when I was 8.

Adventures of a Twenty Pence

I am a twenty pence coin. I belong to a little girl. I have been living in a piggy bank for ages. One day I heard the little girl's mum telling her to go and get some change. She took me out of the piggy bank and put me in her purse. It was then that my adventures began. She was running along with me in her hand. Then we came to a drinks machine.
"Can I have a drink?"
"Yes" she replied.

"Ouch," I cried as I landed with a thump. I was in a box with lots of other coins. I made lots of new friends.

The next day somebody came and lifted out my friends and I. My best friend was a pound coin. The person lifted me out and said
"I'll buy a sweet with you."
But on the way along the road he dropped me and I landed in a puddle. Later, somebody came and picked me up. Then they took me into a shop.
"Twenty pence" said the shopkeeper. So I was dropped into a till.

Then the shopkeeper said to somebody,
"I'll give you thirty pence change."
So I was on the move again. This time it was with an old man. He put me in his pocket. Then he took me into a bank. He gave me and lots of other coins to a lady. Then she put us in a safe.

We were in the safe for months. Maybe even years. Until one day the lady took some of us out. She gave us back to the old man. Then he took me into a huge building and dropped me into an offering tray. I went on a huge plane and landed in another country. I stayed there for the rest of my life.