Yawn

I don't even need to tell you why i'm writing this but yeah im bored (this is to common) anyways im going to right a story on my blog. Why? Because i get easily bored that's why!

For some life is simple. Some people wish their life was more interesting. The fact you actually have time to read this, probably means you life is as boring as a brick.
Do you want to do something interesting for a change? Something exciting, thrilling and dangerous? Believe me, you don’t. Not if the sort of thing you’re thinking about is as ‘exciting’ as my life. If you were me you would be rushing to the second hand life shop to pick up a boring life. One that almost guaranties you’ll survive to be 20. One that doesn’t involve man eating mutants and evil magicians trying to conker the world. Like I said, if you were me you’d want your life gone for ever. So this is why I took the time to write this, to encourage you NOT to go looking for trouble. To protect you, so that you can live you happy life in front of the telly or playing football, what ever it is normal kids do. I’m Bella Rosovarna and this is my story.


Chapter 1

Being me, I can sum it up in one word. Complicated. Oh and a few swear words I’d rather not write down. Something is always wrong and because of who I am, I have to go fix it. Great. But it is interesting. I get to meet loads of new people, young, old, weird, demented. Thing is most of them, however friendly they may seem, try to kill me and that’s never good for social business. And as you can imagine, I don’t have many friends. Can I say duh? So enough about me and how I have an appalling social life, let’s be and all cliché and start at the very beginning.

I started off as a baby, duh, and had two parents, double duh, and I was pretty normal. Until of course both my parents died in a freak accident and I was sent to an orphanage like a million miles from my real home. Poor little me. So yeah that was pretty tragic and I was pretty mortified, mostly because I was four and I had to leave my teddy behind but, hey, I was too young to understand. My orphanage was hell in a brick house. The hygiene was so bad I was scared to err ‘go’ in the toilet. It’s not surprising half the children died before their next birthday while living there. I didn’t, one because I’m generally awesome and two because I spent half the time raiding the cupboards and covering myself in disinfectant which, surprisingly, was used in the house! Where? The staffs’ quarters of course. I was so clever, plus it smelled good to. After a while the head began to notice disappearing bottles of it and smelled a rat (unsurprising considering how many live in this joint) and after about two seconds of thorough investigation pointed the finger of blame at little old me. Mostly because he hated me and partly because I smelled of lemon and lime fairy liquid.

Rather random huh?