Sweet or sour?

Sweet or Sour?

Let’s start where my head begins; food. Fruit and vegetables, when you cut up a carrot or a pepper all the pieces pretty much taste the same but individual things like cherry tomatoes and strawberries are completely random, you never know which ones will be sweet and which ones will be sour. Even if they originate from the same branch or vine there is no guarantee what the individual will be like, and if you haven’t noticed this also applies to human beings.

People from the same family tree can be completely different on the inside even if they look alike.

I’m guessing you want to know what I am, right? Sweet or sour? My opinion will probably be bias so I’ll let you decide…

My name’s Anya Tailor, I go to secondary school, I’m not particularly popular and I haven’t had a ‘love interest’ for years; so basically my life is a bit boring:

A splendid introduction…

3:00am

BGYIOGY*OOIHIH>Sleepy confused head noises<

I can hear screaming, it’s distorted and loud!Oh god my phone, I sit up frantically only to hear a large ‘mreaaaaaaaaaooooooooooow’. One of the two family cats must have decided that my stomach was a good bed last night and by the deathly howl it must mean the cat is Mittens, the bipolar black and white ball of evil fluff. The racket my phone was blearing was still going on, it was something my sister put on there because she says I’m a ‘heavy sleeper’, I don’t think it’s actually music I think she must have recorded one of her murder victims last time she borrowed my phone.

I reached for the hell ridden piece of machinery that was on a shelf nearer to the foot of my bed, meaning I had to get up which by the reaction of my tired body and the agitated Mittens I knew was a bad idea. I turned off the alarm and opened the door so the demon in cat form could leave; he brushed up against my leg and purred as he left. ‘Yeah, love you too.’ I mumbled begrudgingly, I loved the weird cat really but he’s just scratched up my PJ’s and bed sheets. I trudged down the stairs in the dark following after the cat. I got to the kitchen and was forced to confront the daily routine-Cupboard-cereal-cupboard-bowl-fridge-milk. Cupboard-cereal-fridge-milk. Trudge, trudge, trudge (you get the point). Light on-I plonked the bowl on the table and shuffled sluggishly into my ‘allocated’ seat. There’s not a spoon, I forgot to get a spoon, I NEED TO GO ALL THE WAY BACK TO THE KITCHEN! I rub my eyes trying to muster some energy up; I managed enough to get up, my feet still so riddled with lead that I trod on Tigers’ tail and stumbled over Mittens. My eyes were briefly drawn to the clock but I didn’t pay full attention. Thinking about it, that didn’t look like the right time. My blood rushed, heart beating and the time… 3:07 in the AM. That horrible b***h of a relative is going to DIE.

Authors note: I don't really know where I'm going with this, if I get good feed back then I'll keep at it. I hope you enjoy it and if you do then please vote, comment et cetera if not then improvements are welcome.