@Chaotic_Blue_Leaf
I'll probably post it on here in small chunks, it's still a work in progress. But anyways, here's the first bit! All criticism is welcome, more to come later.
Here goes:
Chapter One: Romana The Idiot
Hi, my name is Romana Jane Carter. I’m your average high school graduate, and also officially the most idiotic idiot to have ever idiot-ed… ified…. ly…… ness. Anyway, where were we? Oh, right, me being an idiot. Well, it’s a long story. It’s hardly even my story, actually. But it began with a bad decision, and it’s all my fault that it turned out the way it did. Hi, my name is Romana Jane Carter, and this is the story of how I died.
I was walking, more running home, from rock climbing (Possibly in a not-entirely-legal place, AKA the up the wall of the local Wal-Mart), when my best friend, insanely skilled artist and animator, and the champion of rock-paper-scissors, Clementine Davidson, pulled up to me on his motorcycle. “Hey, Clem.” I said, shifting my gym bag a little higher up my shoulder. I have a nasty habit of my shoulders slacking when I’m around them. I guess I just feel less uncomfortable around them than I do most people, I guess. “So, Romana, I was thinking. What if I-”
“Yeah, that’s nice. Erm, I’m in a bit of a rush, could this maybe wait?” I asked.
“You’ve been climbing up the campus buildings again, haven’t you?” Clem asked.
“They banned me from ever setting foot there again, remember? It was Wal-Mart, actually.” I clarified. Police sirens were coming closer. “It would be really helpful if I could get a ride out of this place, actually.” I said quickly. Clem gave me a look of disbelief. “No, seriously, I don’t want to be put under house arrest. Again. C’mon, one time wouldn’t hurt, right?” I asked.
“Romana, if I do this, it will have been the thirty-seventh time. This year. I don’t want this to turn out like the graffiti incident.” they said. Those sirens were getting dangerously close…
“It was artistic license!” I protested.
“It’s illegal if it’s you aren’t given permission by the owners of the building to do it!” Clem said, annoyed.
“Please? I promise to never, ever get you into situations like this again.” I said, puppy eyes activated.
“Fine. Hop on. But honestly, I don’t know why I do these things for you.” they said, rolling their eyes. I quickly set my bag in the metal basket strapped onto the back of Clem’s bike, usually used for holding their schoolbooks, and we drove off.