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Once Upon A Mind-numbingly Mediocre Morning

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Once Upon a Mind-numbingly Mediocre Morning It was a particularly bleak view that greeted Jemima when she woke from an exceptionally uninspiring dream and ripped apart her curtains. Groaning both inwardly and outwardly at the prospect of another nondescript, uneventful day at school, she wrenched open her door and stomped downstairs. "Morning, love" sang her mother in contradicting bright tones, placing a plate of toast (lightly done and smothered in jam) in front of her first-born. Jemima grumbled under her breath, threw herself into a chair, and proceeded to stuff the toast down her throat. When she had finished, Jemima turned to her mother and said grumpily, "I need money for lunch today." "I gave you money at the weekend!" replied her mother, her bright tones becoming steadily exasperated. "You can't have spent it all already..." She received a long stare. "I needed new jeans." "You spent SIXTY POUNDS on JEANS?!" ...read more.


"I need to copy your English homework - Miss James is actually going to rip my head off!" Jemima was fuming by this point, wearing an excessively disgruntled look and a now tousled uniform. The girls' increasingly heated conversation was attracting bemused glances from passers-by. "Well I didn't do her essay because I felt ill all evening..." Sam was now leaning against the doorframe, looking weaker by the second. Jemima breathed deeply, "You're so selfish. See you later, sicky." and walked up the short garden path. It was just a few minutes later when Jemima - muttering darkly under her breath about the selfishness of others, how mind-numbingly boring her day was going to be and how it was most likely going to rain - crossed the road whilst deeply lost in thought. And it was at that precise moment that a particularly ordinary bus ran her over. ...read more.


A strand of my long, dark hair was stuck to a small cut across my cheek. The rest was spread out around me. Tangled and matted with blood. Great. The dramatic within me had always imagined my death as tragic and picturesque. I had dark thoughts, was often unhappy. I pictured my death a lot. It is NOT meant to happen like THIS! Sixteen years old and I was killed by a bus on the way to school. Strangers, who frankly looked more interested than concerned, surrounded my body. With my long, dark hair - my pride and joy - looking like a birds nest and in my school uniform with my inappropriately short skirt. Where were the ravaged cliffs, the wild fields, the shotgun? Where was the beautiful man and his desperate attempt to save my tragic life? Where on earth is the ambulance?! Not that it mattered. I was quite obviously dead. Where was my beautiful dress? Typical, I would die in my uniform, on the day that I wore that ridiculous skirt that - Oh my God, you can see my pants. ...read more.

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