How About an Adventure to the World After Tomorrow?

Chapter 1: Normal Girl, Normal World

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Thank you to everyone who's decided to pick up How About An Adventure To The World After Tomorrow! ❤️
(Or 'The World After Tomorrow' for short!)
Please note the story alternates between worlds. The world's are differentiated between 'Chapter' and 'Day', this does not mean that the 'days' are not a part of the story—all content is relevant.
The plot and romance *wiggles eyebrows* picks up a two or so chapters.

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Wakin' up in a white room,
I reach out for your hand

♫♩

My eyes are open, and my back is sore.

Lying on the firm mattress of my bed, I shakily twist my neck as a pain shoots up the nape. Groaning, I sit up—scratching the back of my neck as my fluffy bed head springs to life.

The cerulean sheets covering my bed are messy and array, signalling that I'd had another horror filled night—filled with dreams that were anything but. Having the same reoccurring dream night after night was becoming a routine.

I'm running through a forest, specks of gold and navy swirling around me before I fall in a hole. It's as if I could smell the fresh scent of flowers as I tumbled into absolute darkness. The worst kind of dream is when your falling, it gives you that sense of motion even when you wake.

Swinging my legs off the edge of the bed, I titter to my porcelain vanity—stretching towards the ceiling.

Work after school. Work every day.

All work and never play—that was my life.

My job wasn't all that fancy, but it was a job. Something that was increasingly difficult to come by when your at my age. A shabby lunch-to-dinner cafe by the harbour side, smack bang in the middle of Twelve Dock, was where I spent most of my late nights. School was another requirement for me to live, that I found absolutely no use for and often let it pass in the hours that trickled by.

Yeah, I'm pretty boring—but it's hard to find a spectacular story in a life so dull.

Slipping into my uniform, I tread down the stairs of my two storey apartment and make my way into the silent kitchen. I seldom prepare myself a small lunch and quick breakfast—planning to eat at work. Craning my neck towards the living room, I notice the absence of the primary school back pack that hangs on the back of the front door. The navy bucket hat is also missing from its spot on the brass doorknob.

Not paying too much mind to the whereabouts of the owner of these possessions, I turn on my phone and open my bus schedule.

"Oh, the bus will be early..."

Meaning that I'd miss it.

Groaning internally, I continue my regular routine and notify a friend that I'd be late.

∽ ✱ ✿ ✱ ∽

My thighs shaking from the cool metal bench, I look towards the end of the road expectantly as I wait for the next bus. Hands clasped in front of me, I let my black hair fall in front of my face—shielding me from the cold winter sun.

Suddenly, a throb in the side of my head causes me to scream in pain. 

"Mornin', bitch." Comes a tired voice from my side. "I can't believe your late to school."

"Your also late, Georgie." I groan, rubbing the use of my head. The temperamental blonde had thrown a sandwich at my head—covered in cling wrap, and mostly likely inedible. None of Georgie's cooking was. "And I'm late to school sometimes."