Asthma

"Hey, Merci. HEY!"

"I'M SITTING RIGHT HERE, NEXT TO YOU, THERE IS NO NEED TO BELLOW, IN ME BLOODY EAR!" I scream, Honey blinks.

"Your 'bloody ear'? I don't think it's bleeding some how," Honey says, her eyes gleaming at me.

"They are now, I think your voice may have burst my ear drum!" I squeak.

She rubs her ear, mockingly. "Well, I guess we're even now, hey Miss Shrill?"

"Shut up," I mutter flatly. My life has never been exceedingly exciting, or exciting full stop. I have never been to a concert - not even a school one. Beige and Pastels are my staple closet colours.

Honey and I are sitting on the bus stop bench, me wearing my cream conservative shirt, knee length flowing brown skirt, soft brown leather buckled shoes, white woolen tights and my mouse brown hair pulled back in a silver clip. Honey is in a baby pink dress with matching shoes, her honey coloured hair pulled back into a messy ponytail her blemishes covered in thick foundation splodges.

I sigh, "Well as fun as sitting in a bus stop is, I'm off home. See ya!" I lift myself away from the bench waving shortly, she waves back still sitting. I pause, looking at her, "You staying here?"

"Might as well, note better to do." She says in monotones.

I raise my brows, "Do you want to come to the library with me then?"

She snorts quietly, "No, tah. Too dull for me..."

"Suit yourself then." I turn on my half-an-inch elevated buckled shoes and walk down the street to the library.

Fifteen minutes and thirty-seven seconds later:

I push the library door with both hands, it doesn't open. I lean to it, pushing with all of my strength, gritting my teeth, eyes bulging.

"Erm, that door's locked, dear. Would you like to come in through this door?" an old dear asks from the door next to the one I'm pushing. Blood rushes to my face, I nod quickly, slipping through the door with my head down.

Inside the familiar smell of books and inky paper wafts around me, dragging me inside. I hear the old dear giggle as she shuffles back behind the desk. I wander to the teen fiction, a place full of false hopes and impossible endings like finding out you're really an angel and have to help save the world or even marrying vampires.

Get real, like that's not gunna happen.

I trail my forefinger along the books, pausing at 'dark romance,' laugh and continue along the row. I pick out the Diary of Ann Frank, a true and tragically horrible story of a little Jewish girl that lived in an attic with her family and their family friends. Did you know that her grandparents were millionaires?

I sit at the bottom of the bookshelves, knowing that I won't bother anyone as, well let's be honest, no one comes in here anymore.

Half way through the book, I stretch my legs out to the opposite book shelves my toes brushing against something under the shelves. I frown, folding the corner of the page, I plop the book down on the ground and scrunch myself up, my head on the floor my eyes on the floor looking underneath.

In all the time I've spent here, I don't think I've ever seen a book under here. I reach tentatively out to snatch it in my mits. I pull it to me, and like ancient tablets in The Mummy, it was covered in dust.

My eyes widen as I think of the prospect of being like one of those heroins in the movies. I plow the dust away, not thinking about the opposite coming wind coming from the pre-historic air conditioning unit known as a fan, the dust double-backs into my nose and mouth making me choke.

Three and a half minutes later:

"Paaaaaa!" I exclaim as finish coughing I wipe the tears from my eyes. I rub the sticky dust from the book, as I do this, it reveals a merky silver script, saying:

'How Not To Be A Non-Blood-Gluzling Vampire.'

I laugh.

I continue laughing for the next five minutes. whatta name.

Despite myself, I open the the front cover, the pages look as they have been soaking in a bowl filled with coffee and tea bags for a weak, the text is in a comical red. As soon as my fingers touch the pages, a blue bar like thing runs up them, moving like a bar code up. As it leaves, my skin is a weird whitish blue colour.

My brows raise sceptically, great, I'm turning into an ill smurf. Superb.

I read the first line as my eyes open in shock. Bugger.

'Congratulations, you are now a fledging vampire, welcome to the competion.'

The End

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