When I was 11 years old, my mom published a story I wrote; it was called The Fish with Wings. After finding the book recently, I read it, amused. At first read, it seems to be a cute simple story about a fish who wants wings, but after further consideration, it appears that I was on the verge of telling a story about dreams and goals. In the story, the fish is determined to get wings, no matter how absurd of an idea others say that it is. And in the end, he gets his wings, despite the teasing and ridicule from his peers.
At 11, I had no idea about how to structure a story. All I knew is I had an idea and I wanted to get it out through writing. Foreshadowing perhaps? I think so.