First came the worst bit, the bit where everybody gets to judge you before you're even created. I got a mental image of my look before I even saw myself. 'An Alicia Keys look-alike, 5 feet, 7 inches tall. Deep, brown cat-like eyes and brown, curly hair.' Non-too shabby, but a bit... cliched. I looked in the mirror, she wasn't even kidding. I looked almost exactly like Alicia Keys. For once in my life, I looked in the mirror and wished that I looked less pretty and more me. I hit the button on the top of the alarm clock and looked at the time. 7:00am?! Which idiot made me get up that that time?
I tried to drift back to sleep, but before I could even slump back under the covers, a physical force coming from inside my own body decided movement was the best option. Why did this have to happen to me? Well, I could guess why...
It all started when I was 12. I guess this was all Santa's, fault in a way. I went to visit him with my parents, who hadn't yet figured out that I was too old to believe in Santa. I sat on his knee, which was terribly embarrassing, as he asked me what I wanted for Christmas.
"Mr. Right." I told him. But apparently he didn't believe me. The old guy in the suit laughed at me and pulled a (not very neatly wrapped) present out from his large bag of toys. So what did I do? I stole his beard of course.
The present was a teddy bear, about 8 inches tall and a coffee brown colour. The moment I saw it, I disliked it. It was distasteful, especially for me as I was a tomboy, so I ripped its head clean off. It didn't bother me again; my mother threw it in the bin.
Only this time around I didn't have a mother. I lost my mother and father in a car accident when I was 5, and I cried about it for month. Please, cliche! In my own mind, which I was surprised was still my own, I was annoyed with how many cliches had been put into this story already. I didn't half miss my real parents though... They probably didn't miss me; it was 7am. They wouldn't even know I was gone!
Trying to scream was no use, I'd realised this, and neither was trying to frown. Because I was void of all use of my body, for the time being at least. What planet was this? A large banner hovered over the thoughts in my brain 'A Rose By Any Other Name Smells As Sweet.' Not too bad for a title, at least a little better than the rest of the story. Could this... Courtney Mears redeem herself?
Against my free will, I trudged down unfamiliar stairs, cursing the author's choice in bright red wallpaper. I picked up the bills at the bottom, all labelled with 'Chloe K Kimmel' before slinging them onto the coffee table, in front of my large wide-screen TV. Something in the back of my mind, that annoying itchy voice that I presumed belonged to Courtney, told me that I, Chloe Kimmel (Kelly Brooks), was unable to pay the bills. But if I was unable to pay the bills, then how did that television belong to me?! Oh, honestly. Some people used no initiative.
I tugged at my new hair, presumably at the prospect of not being able to pay the bills, but I secretly wished back my luscious, straight blonde hair, my green eyes, my oddly shaped nose. The scar on my left arm from my TB jab, the bite marks on my leg from my first cat, Jimmy. Unable to contemplate this much more, I walked into the kitchen and thoughts of what I was going to eat for breakfast entered my head. Prying open the fridge door, I took some milk out and poured myself a glass, deciding that I wanted chocolate for breakfast. So I headed for the fruit bowl and took an apple and pear, before chopping them up with a knife from the cupboard. I sighed inwardly. I wanted my usual intake of coffee and chocolate, like I did every morning. It wasn't healthy, as head of the netball team should have been, but it didn't bother me one bit. It was the way I liked to live.
And today was supposed to be my birthday. Were the cards all on the table, unopened and waiting for me? Or had time simply stopped while I was away? Sweet 16, spent inside a storybook. One not even worth being in. Could life get any better? Well, after breakfast, I changed into a short top and some jogging bottoms. Then I went out for a run, for an entire hour.
Where was she? Probably gone to get her own breakfast. Cereal, toast, maybe even chocolate? I groaned, breathing heavily, as I reached the door of 12 Maple Street, a fictional house on an estate, where all of the houses were neatly built, with redbrick walls. Leaning on the front door, waiting for my hand to reach in my pocket for the key, I noticed that I'd not broken into a sweat, nor even turned pink, never mind red.
As soon as I let myself in, the phone rang. Brilliant.

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