Okay, I decided to do something a bit different with my story. What I am posting right now is the first chapter to a completely different story that I am writing, but with a few edits to make it Lily Evans' story. So please review and tell me which chapter you like better as a beginning and I will keep that one. If I get no reviews on this I am pulling the plug on this story. Hope ya like!
All By Myself
My Negative Mind and a ll the things that made it start....
The sky is a dark grey color this morning as I rise from my bed with a frown on my face and high anxiety. I push off my green satin comforter that is tangled at my feet, and I topple right off the bed and on to the hard cement floor. This is going to be a terrible morning. In an attempt to make my situation of lying on the ground with my comforter wrapped around me a little better, I decide to make myself halfway presentable. I run my hand through my tangled, slit-ended red hair but it doesn't work. My hand gets stuck in my hair causing me to yank a hundred hairs out in the process. Talk about pain.
After tearing my hand from my hair, bringing tears to my eyes, I untangle myself from my comforter and drag myself across the floor, to the closet. My closet always make me feel somewhat better, because it is plastered with pictures of my friends and my owl Rufus, who is currently asleep on my bed post. It is also covered with glow-in -the-dark-stars. The only bad thing about my closet are the things inside: my clothes. I hate finding outfits in the morning, especially on the first day of school. I rarely find an exact fit. Unfortunately, once I do, I always spill something on it in the end. Then I have to choose two outfits when I first wake-up, just in case. Life sucks.
After starring at my closet door forever, trying to make my morning seem fabulous and avoid the inevitable, I open the closet door. It's too bad that when my parents left two days ago I had "cleaned" my room. Translation: stuffed every single thing into the closet and forced the doors shut. Torrents of clothes, shoes, and books come pouring out all over the place as I scream and run for cover. It is to no prevail. I am trapped underneath my clothes. . . Sort of. I can still see, but nothing but my feelings are hurt when I observe the horrible mess that I have made.
Exhausted, I look at my clothes on the ground and scan through all of them. "Ugly!. . .Makes my butt look big,. . . No! Eww!. . . Grandma bought it, enough said. . . Out of style. . . Maybe. . ." I find the leg of a pair of green cargo pants and(I also choose some Big Star Jeans just in case.), a whit tank top with black stitching on it (I also grad a black tank top with lace on it.), and see through black jacket from Miss Sixty. It looks horrible on me. Whatever. Same thing as every other day. Nothing in my closet ever seems to fit. Even though I love to shop, it seems as though nothing in the stores seems to fir me either. I am a hopeless case when it comes to clothes.
After selecting my outfit, I put on a pair of shorts and my scarlet Oxford T- shirt in order to get ready for my morning jog. My jog will definitely prepare my for the brutal day to come. I trudge into the bathroom to wash my face and brush my hair; since running my hand through it obviously didn't work. As I look up into the mirror, I finch in disgust. I hate looking in mirrors. My eyes, this morning are slightly red. Since they are naturally green , it looks as if I am trying to celebrate Christmas early. My skin's ivory color is blotched with pink in some unseemly places which makes me flinch even more. My lips well I can't really do anything about those. Not until I leave the house, that is. They are so abnormally small; I don't know what to do with them. I am wasting my time though. I need to go on my run before it is too late and the sun is fully out. I hate when I have to run after the sun has risen, because that means that my fellow British citizens have already entered the rest of the world and will interfere with my isolated one.
I wish that I still did track, but that is an old part of my life now. The coach was brutal and didn't think that I had a life besides running. There are things that I want to accomplish in my life other than running seven miles a day. Anyway. . . I go outside to face the dark sky and the wet grass. As I walk across the mud, some of the water sprays on my legs, causing me to grit my teeth in frustration. Great, another thing to make my body look even more hideous than it already is.
I wipe the water residue off my legs and begin to slowly jog to the sidewalk. When I reach the street I look forward expectantly to the sliver of sun that has risen., turn on my Warlocks Deranged CD and I begin my three mile run. The melody of "If You To Jinx It!" blasts in my ears as I pound my way down the black cement. I do this every morning with the expectation that somehow this run will clear my mind and the meaning of life will suddenly come to me. It doesn't. Same life. Same meaning. I don't have a life, I have no meaning. It does relax me to some extent though. I'm not nearly as uptight right now, if you can't tell, as I was when I first woke up this morning. That is so horrid. I just noticed the fact that when I run my thighs hit against each other. What a strange thing to notice when I am so deep in thought about what the meaning of life is, and then suddenly here I am trying to think of ways to change how my upper legs appear. I know I can do nothing about it, but I guess it is just another imperfection for me to look at and loath upon myself.
I keep running through North London and look at the different shops with illegal oriental salesmen and women who are pulling out their fake purses , sunglasses and such. Why are the so happy. They have no life. Their meaning is to sell something that isn't even theirs and is fake as well. I have to admit I am even worse than they, because I am one of the people that keep them in business. I guess as long as they are happy, I should not judge them. They have meaning more then I. One mile down.
After I finish passing through the rattling sales force of North London I pass through Little Italy, as I like to calls it. Little Italy is much different. The smells of foods surrounds me as I pass each individual restaurants in which men and women are setting up menus and tables in the front in order to attract the many tourists who are always in this area. The people who run these restaurants must not be thin. It would be impossible as far as I am concerned. You could not cook Italian food all day and not be a little bit overweight. (Not obese.) Maybe I should stay in Little Italy more often if I am ever feeling bad about myself. Two miles down.
I cannot believe that I just thought that the poor salesmen and women in North London had no good meaning to their lives and that Little Italy were overweight! What a terrible person I am. Why would I ever judge somebody so horribly? I anyone needs to be judged like that it is me. I am th one who needs to be told that I have no meaning; I am the one who needs to be told that I am overweight. What was I thinking? Three miles down.
As I finish my third mile, I am suddenly in front of my apartment building. I didn't even notice where I was running. I guess over time this path has become routine for me. It has become a time for me to reflect over what I have made of my life and how I see other people. Every morning I come to the same conclusion, but I always seem to discover new things about myself. It is so bizarre that this mornings' run idea started with me just not wanting to be a fat pig and now I am solely analyzing other citizen's lives. This morning I discovered how horribly judgmental I am and how it is I that deserves to be judged so harshly. I should keep a list of morning run discoveries. Or maybe it would be a better idea if I just came up with a new running path in the morning because I am obviously not getting a workout if I am able to discover this many things. That is what I will do; I will find a new routine. Maybe I could run through the park or something; that way, I can focus on my new trail. I cannot stay on the old one; it has given me too much time to think. I need to get ready to go on the train.
With that last thought , I walk to the side of the large, brick building that houses our loft. It is slowly disintegrating, but I guess that is all my parents believe I deserve. (my sister moved out yesterday. Thank God. The loft was cramped with her in it.) They are never home, so it is not like they have to deal with household matters on a daily basis. They have to pay for it, yes, but they don't have to live with it. I walk slowly past the trash cans that were painted blue last spring(they are now chipped and ugly) and back across the mud, grass and water. Although the sun has completely risen, it seems as if the water has not gotten the message that it is time to evaporate. So once again, as I stupidly walk across the soggy patch, it sprays the whole back of my legs with water and mud. This morning sucks.
The story that you are reading right now is the story of Lily Evans. A girl who is trying to isolate herself form the world around her. She is like any other typical witch in the world which is what makes her story so fascinating. Lily lives in North London with her mom and dad in a loft, although they are hardly home due to business trips. Lily also does not have to live at home very often either due to the fact that she goes to Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Today Lily goes back to this school on the Hogwarts Express at 11:00 sharp.
Lily does not really see herself in the mirror. She sees, to put it bluntly, a load of crap. Lily is actually a very pretty girl with wavy red hair ( of which she curls the ends of it every morning) that falls just past her shoulder blades and gorgeous green eyes. Lily has beautiful ivory skin that will occasionally tan. Her lips are not small, but average size. She is about 5'5 and has a slender figure that is invisible to her, but not to a passerby.
Lily is trying to find her way and will do it, even if it takes her an entire book to do it.