A Life in a Day

January 6, 2012
Custom User Avatar
More by this author
Aged 14, Shara lives in East London where she has spent a large proportion of her life studying at school. Her teachers remain ignorant of the fact that the world, and everything existing, is prophesized to come to an end in a mere few months. When the poor hardworking child isn't living up to her oblivious educator's demands; she enjoys drawing, playing hockey and talking to her friends.


In all honesty, I do wake up rather early - about 6am. It's natural for me to turn towards the alarm clock. After absorbing the fact that there's still time to sleep a while longer, I bury my head into the pillow. Being as inconceivably scheduled as I am: if I'm supposed to wake up at 8am, I will wake up at 8am - not a minute earlier. "Early bird catches the worm" some say, but why would I want to catch worms?!

Uncontrollably, I then reach my arm out to my bedside table to check my phone and see whose "available to chat". It's usually this friend otherwise known as 'trouble'. We love to harass each other and her immense capacity of chatter should be an eight wonder of the world (well not for long seeing as we've only got a few months left)...


On my march to school, I eat the odd bit of toast and/or fruit - a major turn on for pigeons. The word 'march' probably sounds like I'm in the army or something, but of course then I could be called General Knowledge. Hauling myself into school (with the last bit of will power I have left), I rush hastily past a vast swarm of maroon uniform coloured figures almost managing to make it into the form room on time (like I said before, not a minute earlier nor a minute late) and spend registration copying homework that's due in the next period. The subjects I'd spend time on are Maths, English and Art, alienating the rest of the curriculum; except sometimes history which is a surprise considering my revulsion for it - possibly due to the fact that my teacher's a man who's cast a spell (Miss Spellman) on me to complete all my history homework on time (if you'll pardon the pun)! If it's a load of dogs’ faeces, she makes me re-do it and compensate for the delay in detention. Isn't it just awkward when Wikipedia copies your homework? That's usually my excuse but apparently the chances of a random person copying my homework and posting it on Wikipedia are "one in a million". Considering that there are 7 billion people in today's world alongside Ms Spellman's clichéd statistic - that means 7000 people could have copied my homework, which sounds pretty likely! And to that, I get sent out of the class – you know you pulled the words straight out of your teacher’s mouth when they have no option but to send you out.

Google tells me that I’m 1,000,756th in line to being Queen, so when I do become Queen, I will alter the UN’s Convention of Children’s Rights because some of their rules are completely mumbo jumbo. It’s not fair for my teachers to accuse me of copying my homework when clearly I haven’t! How unfair is it for teenagers, when they’re treated like children, but expected to act like adults? You see, we never grow up – but just learn how to act in public. That is, of course if I do make it to the throne in my lifetime; perhaps I’ll turn to some of the ways of Shakespeare’s well loved character Macbeth, not forgetting that he was actually conquered by Macduff towards the end, but it’s definitely worth a try to outlive and take life away from more than a million people. I’d say that’s almost a massacre. Don’t worry; I’ll keep Prince William alive just so I can marry him.

First period's a drone - that's inevitable (unless it's double English on a Monday morning of course) (!) Banned from talking in lessons, especially now as I feel obliged to focus, I have to keep my mouth moving – generally by chewing gum. I like to spend my lunch money on Orbit multipacks - three for a pound at Tesco (that would also be the first time I called Tesco TESCO and not TESCOS)! Chewing gum is student currency. The GBP rates increase depending on what year you're in, because of course in lower school, "I'm telling Miss" was all it took to take the whole multipack off someone. Here come the generation of emerging economic giants. Homework is worth one pack; however, an assessment’s worth the whole multipack. Never mind getting caught by the teacher, it's your friends who you want to hide it from!


Good news of a third of the day being over is celebrated by something we call 'break'. It's at 10:40 and lasts only twenty minutes. The worst feeling would have to be the moment it hits you that it's actually break time, and not lunch. What heartache. Along comes all the depressing mood music where the director zooms in numerous times. Don't get me wrong - break and lunch are still my favourite subjects when we formally debate and justify who the better looking X Factor judge is (Gary Barlow any day); this pursued by discussions of last nights' TV and how it's outrageous that someone broke a nail. Having renewed my energy levels, I strengthen myself to go back inside that four-walled cage, ravenous for more information, as well as lunch.


Before you know it, the day is over and it's time to go home. My favourite lesson must be RS, not because I particularly enjoy it but because it's my 50 minute countdown to the weekend on Friday Period 6. RS is quite a fascinating subject because you get to ask questions and as long as you can explain why you think that, there's no right or wrong. One question I have, and it's almost a phobia, is that: what if I'm dreaming now? Gasp. What if one day I wake up to a completely different life? I could be living the dream, or quite possibly the nightmare. Gasp even more. Pinching me will make sure of that, some have suggested, but I could be dreaming that I'm pinching myself and the pain could just be part of the process. The killer question is: what if I woke up as a baby? Would that mean babies are exceptionally intelligent for their age? Or maybe they actually are, but my dream world has just conjured this hysteric fantasy up. These philosophies of mine are a pain in the buttocks, especially when I'm trying to get to sleep. Something else I just happened to unearth when I was trying to get to sleep last night was that “Santa” rearranged spells “Satan” (I’m onto you fat man). It was one of those times when you I couldn’t get my mind to shut up. And quite frankly, that is how I end my day. Hold the applause.





Post a Comment

Be the first to comment on this article!

bRealTime banner ad on the left side
Site Feedback