ultimaodin
Member
Alright this is a short story I wrote during English because I despised the teacher with a vengance! For some reason (because I didn't give a shit about English or passing school after what I'd been through) I decided to hand this in as my Short story assignment! Funnily enough I got top marks for it to! 32/35, the second highest in the school!
How I rightfully don't know but anywy, take a minute or two to read:
How I rightfully don't know but anywy, take a minute or two to read:
The scope is focused precisely between the eyes of your hated teacher. The sniper rifle is cool to the touch as you stroke your hand slowly down its solid deathly side. You flick the safety switch smoothly with the tip of your index finger. You hear the ever satisfying click as the trusty scoped rifle declares that it is willing to fire whenever you desire.
Earlier that day you had been doing nothing but writing a simple short story in your English class. Squeezing your pen in frustration caused your little finger to ache at the joints as you tried to think of what else to put in your story. You had muttered a small swear word under your breath over the lack of imagination on what to add in the storyline. God forbid it if the teacher and his big ears had somehow managed to capture the sound. The whole class had erupted in laughter as the conceited teacher sent you to lower school isolation.
You dig your hand into your padded pocket and pull out a long silver bullet. You twirl the shiny bullet around in your fingers for a few moments, admiring the light that is reflecting off of it. You open up the chamber and in the same fluent motion you slip the bullet smoothly into place. You slowly close the chamber, savouring yet another satisfying click.
‘Year twelves don’t get sent to buddy. This is bull s**t!’ you cursed inside your mind.
The year eight’s mocked you with cruel grins across their faces. You had grabbed the hood of your jersey and flung it over your head, hiding your shame. You had slumped your shoulders as you starred blankly at the half page story you had so far written. You tried to come up with something to write but the rage that was inside of you blocked your imagination. The only thing that was on your mind was revenge.
The weight of the loaded sniper rifle is lighter than you expected. Crouching in the empty room, peering through the open window, it was oddly peaceful. You are getting ready to snipe someone in the head and all that is on your mind is the relaxing stillness of the air around. You pull the sniper up so that the scope circles your eye perfectly. The little red marker is focused on your teacher’s forehead. Your right index finger begins to caress the cool trigger lightly. The soft breeze from the open window stirs slightly as your finger presses down into the cold metal, the silence evaporating.
The half hour period of detention in lower school had been very close to hell for you. You had given up trying to write your story and had instead sketched multiple ways you could bring harm and pain to your teacher. The fact that if the buddy teacher had caught you drawing you would have been suspended did not bother you in the slightest. By the end of those long and lonesome forty-five minutes you had devised the most suitable way to deal death upon your tormenting teacher. All you needed to do was acquire your dad’s sniper rifle and an exit route.
The sniper rifle lashed back as the bullet exploded out of the slick barrel. Your knees crumble into an awkward position from the force of the backlash. A small echo of sound fills the empty room and then, afterwards, there was nothing. The room around you was more than silent it was dead. Not even the light, high pitched sound that had constantly buzzed in your ears could no longer be heard. Suddenly with the silence you feel deaf.
The stairs were a bit of a nuisance to walk up, burdened with the extra weight of the sniper rifle that was slung across your shoulders. It was a necessity though for you to observe every possible escape route from the abandoned building available. You had not had any clue how long it would take the police to come and find you after the bullet was shot. You wanted to be prepared for any situation, just in case. After going through all the empty hallways and rooms you returned to the second level where you had a clear view into the targeted teachers living room. It would not have been long before your desire for revenge would have been fulfilled and your teacher dead.
You dropped the sniper rifle with a soft echoing thud and slowly inhaled the crisp air. You just could not do it. At the last fleeting moment you had pulled the gun off on an angle so that the bullet ricocheted into a solid brick wall, in which it was now embedded. In your confused, yet focused, state you could see small fragments of concrete and brick crumbling towards the ground below the bullet embedment. Your teacher seemed slightly alert but other than that he looked as if he’d just seen some form of awesome visual effect on his flashing television. The teacher did not even seem to notice the small patch of crumbling wall not five meters away. Finally you exhaled a deep breath and shouldered the rifle to the strap.
‘Bloody blind idiot’
You climb to your feet taking another glance out the window towards your most despised teacher.
‘No man deserves to die in cold blood,’ you believe as you turn on your heels to leave.
“Even an a** of a teacher like him.â€
Earlier that day you had been doing nothing but writing a simple short story in your English class. Squeezing your pen in frustration caused your little finger to ache at the joints as you tried to think of what else to put in your story. You had muttered a small swear word under your breath over the lack of imagination on what to add in the storyline. God forbid it if the teacher and his big ears had somehow managed to capture the sound. The whole class had erupted in laughter as the conceited teacher sent you to lower school isolation.
You dig your hand into your padded pocket and pull out a long silver bullet. You twirl the shiny bullet around in your fingers for a few moments, admiring the light that is reflecting off of it. You open up the chamber and in the same fluent motion you slip the bullet smoothly into place. You slowly close the chamber, savouring yet another satisfying click.
‘Year twelves don’t get sent to buddy. This is bull s**t!’ you cursed inside your mind.
The year eight’s mocked you with cruel grins across their faces. You had grabbed the hood of your jersey and flung it over your head, hiding your shame. You had slumped your shoulders as you starred blankly at the half page story you had so far written. You tried to come up with something to write but the rage that was inside of you blocked your imagination. The only thing that was on your mind was revenge.
The weight of the loaded sniper rifle is lighter than you expected. Crouching in the empty room, peering through the open window, it was oddly peaceful. You are getting ready to snipe someone in the head and all that is on your mind is the relaxing stillness of the air around. You pull the sniper up so that the scope circles your eye perfectly. The little red marker is focused on your teacher’s forehead. Your right index finger begins to caress the cool trigger lightly. The soft breeze from the open window stirs slightly as your finger presses down into the cold metal, the silence evaporating.
The half hour period of detention in lower school had been very close to hell for you. You had given up trying to write your story and had instead sketched multiple ways you could bring harm and pain to your teacher. The fact that if the buddy teacher had caught you drawing you would have been suspended did not bother you in the slightest. By the end of those long and lonesome forty-five minutes you had devised the most suitable way to deal death upon your tormenting teacher. All you needed to do was acquire your dad’s sniper rifle and an exit route.
The sniper rifle lashed back as the bullet exploded out of the slick barrel. Your knees crumble into an awkward position from the force of the backlash. A small echo of sound fills the empty room and then, afterwards, there was nothing. The room around you was more than silent it was dead. Not even the light, high pitched sound that had constantly buzzed in your ears could no longer be heard. Suddenly with the silence you feel deaf.
The stairs were a bit of a nuisance to walk up, burdened with the extra weight of the sniper rifle that was slung across your shoulders. It was a necessity though for you to observe every possible escape route from the abandoned building available. You had not had any clue how long it would take the police to come and find you after the bullet was shot. You wanted to be prepared for any situation, just in case. After going through all the empty hallways and rooms you returned to the second level where you had a clear view into the targeted teachers living room. It would not have been long before your desire for revenge would have been fulfilled and your teacher dead.
You dropped the sniper rifle with a soft echoing thud and slowly inhaled the crisp air. You just could not do it. At the last fleeting moment you had pulled the gun off on an angle so that the bullet ricocheted into a solid brick wall, in which it was now embedded. In your confused, yet focused, state you could see small fragments of concrete and brick crumbling towards the ground below the bullet embedment. Your teacher seemed slightly alert but other than that he looked as if he’d just seen some form of awesome visual effect on his flashing television. The teacher did not even seem to notice the small patch of crumbling wall not five meters away. Finally you exhaled a deep breath and shouldered the rifle to the strap.
‘Bloody blind idiot’
You climb to your feet taking another glance out the window towards your most despised teacher.
‘No man deserves to die in cold blood,’ you believe as you turn on your heels to leave.
“Even an a** of a teacher like him.â€
