Short Stories

My Life is Great!

Hello dear anyone who's reading this!! So this short story is a bit different to my others, because this is actually not just a short story (ik, shock XD) but the first chapter to a book I'm writing. An English teacher once told me that a good chapter in a book has to work as a stand-alone short story, so I decided to put this on here as just that. I would love love love love love some feedback if you feel like it, anything: grammar or spelling or just that you don't like a phrase or sentence or suggestions or anything just put it in the comments and I promise to read and consider every one. Now here's the story and enjoy -Emmi

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"I hate my life!!"

I stop reading there.

I honestly can't with these books. I mean how many of them can there possibly be? Surely there must be an end! Obviously not, but I wish people would just move on, they're so boring.

It's a formula, of course, and I read the first three, but after that... well, it kind of goes like this:

Girl:

Hates her life

Finds something magical in her otherwise ordinary and mundane life

Gets whisked away into a magical world

Finds out she's the chosen one of a prophecy

Becomes the hero

Returns to her ordinary and mundane life a changed and better person

And it does get so repetitive, I mean, just come up with something original will you writers?

The most annoying thing is, I'm sure there are lots of incredibly interesting books out there, if only your PARENTS would let you read them.

So I'm stuck with Daysi Pooper and her stupid escape into Princesstown.

Everyone's been getting me these books recently, like there's only one genre a girl could want! Which is completely ridiculous of course, coming from a girl who would give her left eye for something interesting to read.

Okay maybe not the eye, my ear though!

As I glare desolately out of my window I see my mother parking the car and making her way up the driveway. In her hand is a- a book.

Another one????

I never should have told anyone I like reading.

"Ugh."

I like groaning, it makes me feel better, so I groan again and slam my head backward into the wall so I can look at the ceiling.

It must be noted that my room is pretty nice. My parents worked forever on it, but if you look around you'll notice a certain theme.

First of all the room itself is wide and spacious with slanting roofs that seem to hug you in cozily. It's an attic you see, but not one of those horrible musty-dusty attics; this one is clean and bright and smells of pine, though it was built ages ago and I'm sure the scent must have worn off the rough boards that panel the walls a long time ago. My bed is big and comfy, just the right squishiness so that you can really get cozy without sinking in too much. Then there's the bookcases, miles and miles of them stretching all over the room, it was very hard to fit them because of the slanting roofs but somehow my parents managed. I'm not surprised really, they always manage if it's important. I like the bookshelves, but recently they've just become a display of books I hate.

I turn my eyes from the offending volumes and look instead at my favorite bit about my room. There's other bits and bobs adorning the attic, but they aren't important. The best thing in my room is the window seat.

On either side of the long room is a window, a long tall window that stretches all the way up to the ceiling, but is only a meter or so across. The window at the back looks out over the suburbs of Shrewsbury, a pretty town, but not the most interesting view.

The front window, however, looks out over our driveway, our garden, and beyond that; over fields and fields and hills and little woods and a pretty stream. It's tranquil and beautiful, and I love to look out from the front window more than anything, so my parents built me a window seat in it. A low soft thing with cushions and a soft padded blanket upholstering the seat.

I love it.

I am sitting in it at the moment, and I find myself to be smiling. That's the difference between me and all the girls from the books, I love my life!

My school is great, my parents are wonderful, my house is lovely, I have lots of friends, how could life get any better?

Of course then sullen-me slides their way into my mind and hisses:

"Good books!"

But I don't listen to sullen-me, they're stupid.