England's worst hour

Chapter one: Welcome to my life, continue if you dare!

Today is the 20th of August 2040, my name is Lila Cora Stevenson I am seventeen and I live in London. Although I wish I lived somewhere else because London is literally hell on earth.

To start with we have a curfew (which is set by the government) which recently just got earlier, not that it effects me anyway. My parents don't let me out when the sun goes down, and even at mid-day they ask for a very good reason for me to go out and I almost never go out alone. I am seventeen, ready to start spreading my wings, and I am not allowed out of the house! I guess that is what happens when you have satin in-charge of your country.

The whole government is corrupt with satins children, especially the police force. The police men are worse than the criminals they arrest, not that the criminals are usually doing anything that bad. New ridiculous laws are being made almost everyday and unfortunately many people are found breaking those laws and a lot of the time they didn't know that they existed. This is only the tip of the ice berg when talking about our government's evilness.

My parents tell me that it was not always like this. Apparently before the current government was elected there were non of the crazy laws we have today. Apparently that government wasn't corrupt like the one we currently have. We don't have these conversations very often and when we do we have them very quietly. The government have camera's and microphones everywhere, and if they heard what my parents were telling me my parents would be arrested. I don't want my parents to get arrested. I don't want to get arrested. Hell, I don't want anyone to get arrested. For one simple reason: they would probably die a painful death in a hell-hole of a prison. I've seen enough death and murder to last a life time, everyone in London has.

***

BLEEP BLEEP BLEE- I quickly turned off my alarm as it stopped the dream I was having of I'm not quite sure what because I've already forgotten what it was I was dreaming about. I get into a sitting position and look out the window, the sight is a very depressing London. This in not abnormal. In fact I don't think it is possible for London not look depressing. The sky is almost always gray and filled with large, dark clouds about to relieve themselves of the large quantities of rain which they have been carrying, which they always do. The buildings are colourless boxes which any life they had to start with sucked out from them, reflecting all us people living in London. Everything is dirty. I don't think the government cares enough (that is they don't care at all) to get the city cleaned. The people are either too scared to dare walk the streets, let alone clean them, or too depressed to care.

I get up off my bed and walk over to my wardrobe where my school uniform hangs, ready for me to put on and start another day living in hell. Before I put on the ugly maroon and navy uniform, I open my underwear drawer and pull out a pair of white knickers and a white bra. I get out of my plain pink pajamas and put on said underwear, I then embark to get dressed into my hideous plaided maroon dress, navy blue jacket, dark navy and maroon vertically striped stockings and black 'sensible' shoes. Whoever designed our uniform had zero fashion sense. Sadly bad fashion sense isn't a crime, surprising.

I move away from my wardrobe and towards my mirror. I pick up my black hairbrush and begin brushing my knotted dark brown hair until it is presentable. I then pick up my hair tie with a maroon bow on the top and put my hair up into a reasonably high ponytail. I again look at myself in the mirror, satisfied with my appearance (or at least as satisfied as you possibly can wearing my school uniform) I exit my small empty room and go down stairs and into the kitchen

When I enter the kitchen I find my father reading the newspaper and drinking a cup of coffee, whilst my mother doing something with the television. I walk over and open the ugly wooden pantry and remove a box of cereal, then I move to the equally ugly wooden cupboard and pull out a bowl and a spoon from the drawer above it. I then make my way to the table which dad is sitting at and make myself a bowl of cereal. I begin eating my cereal when a report, on one of those 24/7 news channels, starts about another person who committed a 'serious crime'. I decide to ignore it, I don't like hearing about other peoples' misfortunes, probably because it could very easily be me or someone I love. I get up and place my empty cereal bowl in the sink with a clank.