My War Paint is Sharpie InkMature

            As the principal and I walked down the hall towards the detention room, I was thinking of all the things I'd like to do to him right about then. He was a pleasantly plump man, as my grandma would have called him, so I'm sure it would be quite a show to watch him roll down the stairs.

            Or maybe I could get him stuck somewhere. Like wedged in between the door jams somewhere in the old part of the school, where the corridors and doorways were really narrow. I'd pay ten bucks to see that.

            But no, I had detention. As we neared the door to the detention room, which was really just a regular classroom on the second floor of the school, I wondered if he's notice if I ran away, very quietly, and disappeared into the bathroom. I had used the window in the girl's room a couple times as a get away rout, but it wasn't exactly the most convenient way to exit the building. The bushes at the bottom of the drop cut your skin most of the time.

            And Fats was...Well fat. So good luck to him if he tried to catch me.

            But I had no time to even take a first running step, we were already at the detention room; we were the first ones there. That's pretty much the worst thing ever. Being the first one to anything is really just showing that you actually care for something. I'd be first to not give a crap, or maybe first in line to get tickets for a sick concert, but that's about it.

            One good thing about being first, thought - getting to pick the best seats. I slumped down into the desk right in the back left corner. It was all scratched up and written all over, which I found homely. I liked graffiti; both looking at it and making it. When the principal left, leaving me with a bored looking gym teacher who had all his attention on the sports part of the news paper, I took out a Sharpie.

            FATS EATS IT!

            The black marker stood out nicely across the desk, I thought. And based on the man's size, my comment must be correct. I bet there wasn't much that the fat lard wouldn't eat.

            I smirked and looked to the door, waiting for the rest of my fellow detention goers to show up.

The End

13 comments about this exercise Feed