It was a particularly bleak view that greeted Jemima when she woke from an exceptionally uninspiring dream and tore apart her curtains. Groaning both inwardly and outwardly at the prospect of another nondescript, uneventful day at school, she wrenched open her door and stomped downstairs.
"Morning love," sang her mother in contradictingly bright tones, placing a plate of toast (lightly done and smothered in jam) in front of her first-born.
Jemima grumbled under her breath, threw herself into a chair, and proceeded to stuff the toast down her throat.
When she had finished, Jemima turned to her mother and said grumpily, "I need money for lunch today."
"I gave you money at the weekend!" replied her mother, her bright tones now laced with a hint of exasperation. "You can't have spent it all already..."
She received a long stare.
"I needed new jeans."
"You spent SIXTY POUNDS on JEANS?!"
Jemima groaned again but just outwardly this time and theatrically, "Fine, I'll starve," she moaned and stomped back upstairs to get dressed.
Forty minutes later found Jemima ringing the bell of an ordinary terraced house. Red brick, three windows a door and some guttering. The guttering had been painted blue in an attempt to brighten the place up but the effect was garish and the paint had peeled.
The door was opened and Jemima found herself face to face with her favourite occupant of the house; a short, curvy girl with cropped brown hair who was currently looking rather pale.
"You look terrible!" Jemima's eyes widened at the dishevelled state of her best friend Samantha Emery.
"I threw up 6 times in half an hour," Sam replied - almost boastfully - with a raised eyebrow. "No school for me today!"
Jemima inhaled sharply before exploding.
"Typical! Why does everything have to happen to me all at once?! First my mother - who is supposed to provide for me - would rather see me starve than give me money, then you beat my throwing up record and tell me you've got the day off. I need to copy your English homework - Miss James is actually going to rip my head off!" Jemima was fuming by this point, wearing an excessively disgruntled look and a now tousled uniform. The girls' increasingly heated conversation was attracting bemused glances from passers-by.
"Well I didn't do her essay because I felt ill all evening..." Sam was now leaning against the door frame looking weaker by the second.
Jemima breathed deeply, "You're so selfish. See you later, sicky." and walked up the short garden path.
It was just a few minutes later when Jemima - muttering darkly under her breath about the selfishness of others, how mind-numbingly boring her day was going to be and how it was most likely going to rain - crossed the road whilst deeply lost in thought.
And it was at that precise moment a particularly ordinary bus ran her over.