Ever since I told my mom I was dabbling in fiction writing, she keeps saying "Oh, good! I always wanted you to finish that unicorn story!"
Until I was maybe twelve, I was pretty sure I had an invisible pet unicorn hanging out with me. I was also the proud owner of the largest collection of unicorn figurines ever to grace the planet. I lived, ate, breathed, dreamed unicorns. My Christmas presents were all unicorn-themed. I had unicorn stationary, unicorn sheets, unicorn light switches, unicorn posters, unicorn books... I was so into unicorns that my poor sister, who preferred cats, nevertheless received various unicorn-related gifts from relatives who were blinded by my obsession.
But back to the unicorn story. I wasn't a big writer when I was a kid because I considered writing to be something you had to do as homework, not something you did for fun. Almost everything I wrote was for school, and was therefore technically accurate but not emotionally engaging.
So hearing Mom talk about this unicorn story was a big surprise. I don't remember writing it, I don't know what it was about, and I'm sure I must have been, like, six years old when I wrote it. I don't think there are any surviving copies.
I guess Mom still thinks of me as a little kid. :) I thought she was going to faint when I told her I'm going to be 30 this year.