The Introduction to A Day in the Life of Jane

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The discomfort of the hard seat I was perched on, and the stiffness in my lower body, caused me to wake suddenly. My eyes jolted open to reveal a coach full of rowdy strangers. The noise of the people around me made my ears unpleasantly shriek, my mind full of frustration. I tried to disconnect myself from the world around me, covering my ears with my warm, soft hands. My mind wandered back to the world of tranquillity and peace where I had previously been, urging me to stay there forever. I could feel the warmth of the sun glaring on my face. My cheeks felt cleansed from the combination of the heat and the regular dose of gentle breeze streaming through the partly opened window.

However, the echoes of laughter and the cries from those around me crept into my world of calm, forcing my eyelids to drift apart once again. This time I decided not to close them. I looked around me, thinking of the day ahead. I felt excited, although quite nervous about the protest I was about to become a part of. I wondered if it would be similar to the one that was held in Birmingham, the preceding year. I had enjoyed that immensely, knowing that I was part of something that could change people's lives, people's undecided futures. The protests were arranged by an organisation called Jubilee 2000. There aim was to try and persuade developed countries to cancel the huge debts owed by poorer countries. Every year a human chain was formed around the location of the G8 summit, to try and get leaders of the richest countries of the world to 'drop the debt'.

My mother gently snored beside me, her chest expanding and deflating like a balloon. Occasionally her body twitched, gently touching my side. I turned myself casually to face my father, who was predictably awake, already enthralled in the train magazine he was reading. These magazines were his only accustomed reading material, and unlike him, I claimed that they were undoubtedly 'boring'. However, what could one expect from a man who spent his teenage years pacing station platforms, bracing himself for the next arrival.

Dad saw me peering at him through my tired, puffy eyes and sang his normal daily rendition of "Good Morning Paino!" wide eyed, and abnormally cheery.
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