Just Another Teenage Love Story

I am not living, I am not dead. My name is Veronica Thorne, and I am a reaper.

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2. Chapter Two!

Beep. Beeeeeeeep. Beeep. I slammed my fist on my alarm. I think I broke it. Dammit. I tried to get out of bed, but ended up just falling to the floor. “uuuuugghh,”I scream into my pillow. My head hurts… I need energy. Like, a lot. I hear a buzzing, ‘Am I dying?’ I think. Wait, that’s my phone.

From: Monroe

“Come out and playyyyyyyyy! Dude, I have breakfast.”

BREAKFAST. I drool at the word. I haven’t had energy in what seems like forever. Which is probably like, a few days. I ransack my room for clothes, then put my hair up. I looked in the mirror; I looked pretty good. I put on short, dark jean shorts, a black Sleeping With Sirens crop top, and black studded high tops. I put my bright red hair into a ponytail and used a black bandana as a headband. My black gages and tattoos really made me look like a bad-ass.

I almost tackled Marilyn running outside. “Breakfast is served,” She said with a smirk, throwing a Taco Bell employee at my feet. “Dude, what the hell? A Taco Bell worker, really?” He was shaking in fear and sweating really hard; ew. “You get what you get,” Marilyn shrugs her shoulders. I got really close to his face, and breathed in. A cloud of energy came from his mouth and into mine. I stood up, refreshed and awake. He fell to the ground. “I’m not dragging him!” Marilyn said, putting her hands up. I rolled my eyes, ‘seriously?’ I thought to myself. Grabbing his arms, I dragged him back behind some trash cans. “You’re just gonna leave him like that?” Marilyn asked. I looked around, and picked a dandelion. Putting it on his chest, Marilyn smiled. “Much better,” She stated. I rolled my eyes.

Even though I was a bad-ass, Marilyn wasn’t. She always wore more preppier clothes and had blonde hair. The thing is, I’m a lot more…normal. I’m nicer and can control my hunger. She got angry really easily and it’s scary. Like, she will do whatever she has to to feed her hunger. It’s terrifying. Imagine a childhood nightmare, times ten.

“C’mon, we have to go before he wakes up,” I said, walking away.

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