This is one of the best things I have ever read. It is so genius that I am making YOU read it. Ha:
In Between Abi And Lois,
Back Bench,
Chemistry Lab One,
Prison,
U.K.
25th January 2005
Dearest Cassandra Hannah Mansi Bowman,
I am in Chemistry. Mr. Staples is at the front of the room, bellowing about Parents’ Evening or polymers or whatever. Lois is talking about people toasting Mr. Staples at parties. I do not know why. Abi is gazing intently at her exam paper. Not. She walked into the tampon machine, about six minutes ago, when we went to les loos for a quickie. Holy shit, I just read your letter. I was NOT prepared for that. In tribute to you, I have decide to write a story about what I would like to happen RIGHT NOW, RIGHT HERE. Here we go.
“Stephanie!” I looked up. Mr. Staples was looking at me. In an angry fashion. With a disgruntled trimming. “You don’t look like you’re correcting your exam paper.” I suddenly stood up, kicking my wooden stool aside with an aggressive flick of my foot. It clattered like coals on a hot tin roof. Or is that cat? Okay, like a frozen cat on a hot tin roof. No, ‘cause then it would melt, and it wouldn’t clang. Well, it would… flop. Okay, like a dead cat on a lukewarm tin roof. Anyway. With surprising agility for someone wearing a short skirt and heels, I leapt onto the bench. Standing astride the wooden structure as one stands on the helm of a big pirate ship, I pulled a huge automatic rifle from my pocket. How a two foot long metal weapon would fit into my pocket matters not. Artistic licence etc., i.e. an excuse to talk shit. Anyway, back to my weapon.
There were several gasps. This is not surprising, seeing as it is not a daily occurrence for an otherwise quiet pupil to leap onto school furniture and brandish guns. Oh wait, I hadn’t got to the brandishing yet. I brandished my gun. I waved and pointed it at Rodney’s fat, bald, glistening head. It was glistening because he was sweating. It was sweating because I am a scary motherfucker, and also because the image of a teenage schoolgirl in a short skirt holding a powerful weapon was quite sexual. At least, for him.
I felt the cool trigger against the tip of my finger. I pulled it. There was a deafening BANG, and the gun jerked quickly upwards. A bullet flew out of the barrel of the gun. It raced in a beautiful straight line towards Rodney’s head. It struck him in the centre of his shiny forehead. It perforated his greasy skin, pushed through the rubbery layer of fat, tore through his skull, and smashed its way through his brain, and left through the back of his head. In the split-second before the blood started flowing, you could see straight through his head to the diagram of an oxygen molecule on the board behind him.
Whilst everyone started screaming, blood poured in satisfying torrents from Rodney’s head. He fell with a thud to the pale green floor of the laboratory. A smooth, glassy pool of ruby red blood encircled him. As the girls ran shrieking from the room, I blew a rising wisp of smoke from the barrel of the gun. I slipped the gun back into my pocket. I stepped delicately down from the bench and sat back. Lois had fled in the confusion, but Abi pulled a couple of beers from her pencil case and we sipped them in a comfy silence. Oli strolled in. No, not Emma’s rapist, my husband. He looked at the body lying at the front of the room. “Did you do that?” he asked. I nodded. He winked, and offered me his arm. We walked out to get some chips from the chippy. Abi cleared up the mess, finished correcting her exam paper and patiently waited in the silence until the bell went for lunch. Tanya was never seen again.
The End.
My God, that was a macabre. I am SO sorry. I don’t really want to shoot Mr. Staples. But it would be more exciting than studying the relative atomic mass of neon.
Back Bench,
Chemistry Lab One,
Prison,
U.K.
25th January 2005
Dearest Cassandra Hannah Mansi Bowman,
I am in Chemistry. Mr. Staples is at the front of the room, bellowing about Parents’ Evening or polymers or whatever. Lois is talking about people toasting Mr. Staples at parties. I do not know why. Abi is gazing intently at her exam paper. Not. She walked into the tampon machine, about six minutes ago, when we went to les loos for a quickie. Holy shit, I just read your letter. I was NOT prepared for that. In tribute to you, I have decide to write a story about what I would like to happen RIGHT NOW, RIGHT HERE. Here we go.
“Stephanie!” I looked up. Mr. Staples was looking at me. In an angry fashion. With a disgruntled trimming. “You don’t look like you’re correcting your exam paper.” I suddenly stood up, kicking my wooden stool aside with an aggressive flick of my foot. It clattered like coals on a hot tin roof. Or is that cat? Okay, like a frozen cat on a hot tin roof. No, ‘cause then it would melt, and it wouldn’t clang. Well, it would… flop. Okay, like a dead cat on a lukewarm tin roof. Anyway. With surprising agility for someone wearing a short skirt and heels, I leapt onto the bench. Standing astride the wooden structure as one stands on the helm of a big pirate ship, I pulled a huge automatic rifle from my pocket. How a two foot long metal weapon would fit into my pocket matters not. Artistic licence etc., i.e. an excuse to talk shit. Anyway, back to my weapon.
There were several gasps. This is not surprising, seeing as it is not a daily occurrence for an otherwise quiet pupil to leap onto school furniture and brandish guns. Oh wait, I hadn’t got to the brandishing yet. I brandished my gun. I waved and pointed it at Rodney’s fat, bald, glistening head. It was glistening because he was sweating. It was sweating because I am a scary motherfucker, and also because the image of a teenage schoolgirl in a short skirt holding a powerful weapon was quite sexual. At least, for him.
I felt the cool trigger against the tip of my finger. I pulled it. There was a deafening BANG, and the gun jerked quickly upwards. A bullet flew out of the barrel of the gun. It raced in a beautiful straight line towards Rodney’s head. It struck him in the centre of his shiny forehead. It perforated his greasy skin, pushed through the rubbery layer of fat, tore through his skull, and smashed its way through his brain, and left through the back of his head. In the split-second before the blood started flowing, you could see straight through his head to the diagram of an oxygen molecule on the board behind him.
Whilst everyone started screaming, blood poured in satisfying torrents from Rodney’s head. He fell with a thud to the pale green floor of the laboratory. A smooth, glassy pool of ruby red blood encircled him. As the girls ran shrieking from the room, I blew a rising wisp of smoke from the barrel of the gun. I slipped the gun back into my pocket. I stepped delicately down from the bench and sat back. Lois had fled in the confusion, but Abi pulled a couple of beers from her pencil case and we sipped them in a comfy silence. Oli strolled in. No, not Emma’s rapist, my husband. He looked at the body lying at the front of the room. “Did you do that?” he asked. I nodded. He winked, and offered me his arm. We walked out to get some chips from the chippy. Abi cleared up the mess, finished correcting her exam paper and patiently waited in the silence until the bell went for lunch. Tanya was never seen again.
The End.
My God, that was a macabre. I am SO sorry. I don’t really want to shoot Mr. Staples. But it would be more exciting than studying the relative atomic mass of neon.
Got to fly now, hun. Don't call me baby... call me CELERY.
LOVE NIGERIA XXXXX
(a.k.a. Steve)
1 comment:
WELL I'M SORRY. Actually, I'm not. And if you noticed, I missed out LOTS of the letter. Not just your bit. It already took me an hour to type up, SO DON'T DISS MY PRACTICALNESS. By the way, I am in fact wearing a fleece.
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