((Hey guys! This is a story I'm writing for my application to an art school! Woo hoo! I need your feedback though. If you can, give me your honest opinion, the good and the bad. Also, be sure to comment on the parts you thought were funny, if there are any, and leave your opinion of Rose's character so far! Please don't just vote and go, because I really need this!))
So, where shall I start? Should I do some fairytale thing?

Once upon a time, lived an average girl...
No, no, that doesn't sound right.
Perhaps a generic opening in a kids' book? Y'know, with the ginormous first letter?
Wait, I can't do that on Microsoft Word...
Maybe I should start off with a metaphor! Yeah, I like that id--
Wait, what?
I already did the intro?!
Shoot.
Okay, then let's get on with this by explaining stuff.
All flowers have meanings, and have a message depended on how you give them to a person.
A red rose means you love someone in all ways, a white one means pure love, and black roses basically mean "go screw yourself."
And yellow roses mean friendship. You'll understand that later.
In many ancient places, a lady giving a yellow rose to a man meant that she did not want him as a suitor.
Not many people remember these sorts of things, kind of like how they deny that cheerleading was actually a sport meant for men who were unable to play other sports but wanted to cheer on their friends. (Oh, no homo is right, boys.)
But in this story, let's just say that kids actually payed attention in class, or that the boys here took a wrong turn when looking for boobs on the Internet and ending up finding the meaning of the yellow rose.
Because that, men, is what this story is about. A yellow rose.
Hm? Oh, I'm not done, yet. This is the first chapter, not some silly prologue.
Now, our yellow rose could be described as average.
Her body was like that of an elongated tube; she was extremely tall for her age, but curves did not exist for her, to her mild annoyance. However, she did have one asset she was proud of.
She had large hips. But that was about it, for things body-type wise she actually enjoyed about herself.
Our yellow rose was actually more of a red rose, what with her hair, and she actually hoped to get a few green streaks for her ginger hair when she got older. However, other than that, she had no preferences on how she looked or wanted to look. She wore her hair in a bun everyday, usually paired with a random plain t-shirt, a flannel coat, and jeans. (She had a penchant for plaid and flannel.)
She didn't care a bit how she looked.
As long as she was comfortable and looked like she had a home, she couldn't care a bit less.
She needed glasses, and she wore them. She didn't care about her appearance, as I said. She wasn't going to be one of those stubborn kids who only wore their glasses when they thought they needed them.
And our rose, she was one of those people that looked like a different person without their glasses.
Her almond shaped eyes were more prominent, and her brown eyes showed more as well. Not to mention freckles. However, her eyesight would make a bat wince, and she really didn't care for contacts.
"Oh but how could this be average?!?!?!" You'll ask.
Well, she wears glasses because she needs them, is flat chested, has room for ribs, that kind of jazz. And she's not interested in boys, so, um, there's that.
Well, they actually described her as 'nothing special', but I'm pretty sure that has the same meaning. Nothing special... Heh, it's funny how they think that could ever apply to anyone. We're all special. It's also the reason why both me and the Rose can agree that an 'average joe' could never exist. We're all too special, and uncommon for there to ever be a single human who is 'average.' Because there, really, is no such thing as 'average,' is there?
But I digress, and I'm rambling. Next chapter!

Chapter 2;
Oh wow. It seems you went to the next chapter instead of destroying this novel with fire. Try not to make a habit of that. When I said next chapter, I didn't think you'd actually do it. This is just a novel full of ramblings and maybe, one line of actual dialogue.
So today, let's talk about the fact that America is at a pretty low place right now. (Holy crap, I can hear the entirety of the South screaming in rage and I'm just getting started.) We're getting better, of course, of course. We get gay marriage rights now, and transexuals and transgenders are slowly being accepted. However, let me tell you something.
All kinds of --isms. Bad healthcare. Bad relations with other countries, especially the Middle East. The South in general, I mean good lord(you'll get that irony later.) Terrible school systems.
Well, that's five. Oh well, just keep that last one in mind, we'll be coming back to it. But we can't just leave the other four in the dust, can we? So let's take the time to focus on three of these 'little issues' in America. Don't worry, it's only a short paragraph each, plus this story is mainly telling it's story through facts and riddles, asking readers to piece together the puzzle, so it's fine.

I bet you were confused when I said --isms. I bet you weren't sure what that meant-- well, here's my definition.
Racism. Sexism. Homophobic. Transphobic. Unable to accept other religions. And discrediting those with mental illnesses.(*newsboy voice* Extra! Extra! Get yer puzzle piece! I milked the joke again!) That, everyone who's still reading, are --isms, and there's a lot of it in the grand ol' United States. Y'know, because it might sound really awkward to say sexualityism, or religionism. Wait, that last's a word?! Um, moving along....
I won't focus too much on healthcare. I'm a writer, not a politician. I really don't think I have the heart for it anyway. I live to mock things that make no sense, not to mock people that rely on me. (I'm looking at you, Trump.) So I'll move on.
Relations with other countries aren't good in general, and America is just a pretty hated country to start out with, may it be jealousy, spite, or the fact that some of our citizens are as stupid as horse dung and as obnoxious as that one guy in your neighborhood who insists on painting his house neon pink. (I've got two of those in my neighborhood. Yay.)
Now, for the centerpiece, the one I really meant to talk about but have not got to because I need at a one thousand word count for this chapter.
Drum roll. Oh never mind, I forgot to pay for a drum roll.
Terrible school systems.
Yay, we can finally get back on the subject of our Rose.
"PARDON ME, WRITER, BUT IS HER NAME ACTUALLY ROSE?!1?!?!11"
Well, my disruptive little piece of dirt, let me pat you on the head and say that I'm not telling right now.
Imagine the worst schools you've ever gone to, then ask all your friends to describe the worst schools they've gone to, then go to the oldest person in your family and ask, what was the worst school you ever went to back in the day?
Now, take all that information, and combine it into the cruddiest school you can think of, and that's Rose's school. It was terrible school systems in a single, materialized form.
And Rose hated every second she was there.
When she first came in, she was curious, a kid two feet shorter who was still trying to rock long hair by her mother's request though she honestly liked the idea of a pixie cut better.
She really wasn't much different personality wise.
She was still indecisive-- well, it was actually more that she was okay with everything. It's always been a bit of an issue in our little group, actually--
Aimi wants to do something (usually something stupid-- I swear, her brain is made out of bricks) I want to do another thing, and our Rose always says,
"I'm fine with either,"
Or she sends us a tired look and asks us not to drag her into this. Is that what I missed? The tired look?
Really, it's rare that she ever prefers something. It's always she either loves something passionately, doesn't really care about something, or hates something. But then again, I loved that about her. You could always tell how she felt about something because of it.
And I'm off topic. Would everyone on the bus stop screaming? There's no reason for it. You shouldn't scream unless it's in horror. I already did that. Now shut up.
Look, back on topic, she was less tired back then. I know that one for a fact. I've been watching the bags darken for years. She once told me, "I'm not cut out for public school, I suppose. Too fragile." After telling her once again that she was the toughest person I knew, and after her cracking a rare smile and telling me I needed to find more friends, I couldn't help but agree with her. On the first part, of course. Not being cut out for a terrible school. It took me long enough to get these two. It's hard to keep typing, sorry.
And I think she was... Well, I don't think it was something I can compare. Her happiness dipped during the middle of her school years, but then she seemed to have this sort of spiritual happiness. She didn't have to smile. You could see it. Like a faint glow, surrounding her. But it seems I'm wrong on that one, she's still--
I'm calm.
I think.
It's not their fault.
But either way it doesn't matter, does it? But it's not something I can tell the audience, if there even is one. Be happy. Be funny. Do what everyone says, and stop acting depressed. Why am I still angry, then? And can I be angry? Can I scream and sob? Why can't I? Why can't I?
I don't know why. They treat it like nothing. It's everything to me.

--chapter 3--