How is this for the beginning of a story?

A sea of dark curls flow as I release the red cap from my head. Staring back at me in the mirror is a girl with porcelain skin, deep brown eyes, and thick curls formulating her eerie face. That girl isn't me. She couldn't be me. I never thought of her as me. The way her beauty looked back at me like a bullet just waiting to be loaded. So I kept staring. Waiting for the girl to come out. Waiting for her to kill me in an instant. But she wouldn't. She just stared back at me.


I stand in my dark bedroom trying to figuring something out. The grayness from outside my bedroom windows penetrates my bedroom, bringing in a depressing glow. My fingers is on the white Victorian dresser, tapping it excessively. I tap when I'm nervous. It drives people crazy, but I don't care. It's my coping mechanism. Especially since I won't be living in Kansas anymore. I'm going to be moving to some school in the Upper East called Preston.


When I first got the news that I was moving to Preston I wanted to scream. Not in a girly way that indicate you're happy. But in a way that makes your skin crawl and your blood curdle. Preston was not a school I wanted to go to. I heard about it at my old school Smithdale High. Abbey Gray told me it's a death sentence. I believe her. I've read reviews about the school online and most of them haven't been good. The school has a ten out of ten rating thanks to the state of New York, but people who are smart knows it's bad. People like me. Just looking at the tall school encrusted with stones and vines made u stomach lurch. The windows staring at me like eyes and the door jutting open like a mouth. It was waiting for me to come inside. And I was going to have to deal with it.


I turn back to the girl in the mirror and look at her once more. Her expression is emotionless and her eyes are wordless. I feel a cold shiver go down my spine as I touch the reflection. The glass is cold against my pale fingers and the surface of the mirror is hard as a rock. The girl does the same thing as I do. Her perfect fingers tracing the glass, her deep brown eyes still looking lifeless. There was something about her that wasn't happy. Sadness and emptiness tided her precious face. She was like a ghost. A ghost who was waiting to be properly buried knowing that it wasn't ever going to be buried properly.


';Juliet!'; I suddenly hear my mother call. ';Get your things and be ready! You're gonna miss the train.';


Oh, yeah. I had to take the train to New York. How old fashion. It makes me think of those old time movies where you have to ride on a train to get to a destination. I was actually looking forward to riding the train. I hadn't ridden on one before. The only time I saw a train was in the Harry Potter movies. I'm from Kansas so you don't see a lot of trains. Just vast openings and the sky that seems to touch the ground. I love Kansas. Kansas is my home and a place where I feel most comfortable with. I even love school. I get along more with the teachers because I'm smarter than the average student. I have an usually high GPA that will stump Ivy League students. That's why my parents decided to enroll me at Preston. They felt that Smithdale was holding me back. If anything, Preston might hold me back. I don't know anyone at that school and I don't plan on it. I just want to sit in Mrs. Spelling's AP Literature class and take notes. Spelling isn't her real name, she just said it is to make her teaching job ironic. Her real last name is Abraham. I can see why she would want to change it.


I like Mrs. Spelling. She's an older woman about in her early sixties. You would think she would be retired by now, but she's not. Unlike most teachers, she actually likes her job. Since all my grandparents are dead, I see her as my grandma. She's a cute old lady with gray hair and pale skin. She's pretty short. About five-two. I sometimes have to walk her to her classes just so she wouldn't trip. Surprisingly she has early onset Alzheimer's. You would think they would fire her or something, but she's still working. And that's why I admire her. I'm planning on being a teacher when I grow up. Helping out the little kids and trouble teenagers as if they were my own. That was my dream job. Every time I would tell a fellow classmate about it, they would just laugh. Most of the students are either dumb or have some sort of disability. My best friend Megan is dyslexic, so I have to tutor her in English everyday. I don't mind it thought because it gives me a head start on teaching.


I'm going to miss Megan the most. She's tall, has long red hair, and piercing blue eyes. Every guy thinks she's hot. Which she is. You have to be blind to not think she's beautiful. I wish I was as beautiful as her. Then I would have more friends and a boyfriend.


I'm a littHow is this for the beginning of a story?
I freaking love it!!!! I really want to read the whole story! Is there a way i can? Just email me or whatever haha. But WOW its such a great starting. And i think you have a great talent in writing! :)