Ring!

The bell rings, fourth periods over! Yes!

You are about to jump out of the door but you math teacher calls you over.

Dang, what does he want now? You wonder.

He gives you that scary, sly look that most teachers have these days.

“You got an F on your math quiz, please try Better next time.”

“No! No no no! I thought I did good!”

You whine like a little puppy.

He sighs, “No you didn’t. You can stay after school to redo it. You are excused.”

You are mad. You are SO angry. You take a deep breath.

You walk towards the door, but before leaving you spot something on a table by the door.

You smile.

A broom. Probably left by the janitor. Good.

You pick it up, and walk back to your math teacher.

“Hey, what are you doing? Put the broom down kid. Why don’t you go to your next class your going to be la-“

He cut off. By you.

You slam the broom onto his head. Over and over and over and over.

You smile. There’s blood.

Happiness.

Then the bell rings. Oof you’ll be late for class!

After math you go to your next class, leaving your poor math teacher to rot.