Post by BunnyLuvsit on Nov 8, 2004 17:17:43 GMT -5
The Autobiography of a "Troubled Soul"
By
S. Jeffery Sands
Edited and Approved By
E. S. Young
By
S. Jeffery Sands
Edited and Approved By
E. S. Young
Chapter One: The Hazy Years AKA, Childhood
Recently I had to write an autobiography for English class. 9.9 I didn't enjoy it mostly because I had to write about myself. That's incredibly hard for me to do, but I got through it and, in the end, I gained an idea for a new story! This one will be short mostly because I'm following the guidelines I was given in English class. See, we were given four packets that each contained different questions. We were supposed to have thought of each packet as a chapter of our autobiographies, get it?
Sands: Doubt it. -.9 You should just let me do the talking from now on, sugar. You're too confusing.
Sidney: I know. That's why most of this is written from your POV. ^.^
Sands: What? Why? These kids don't need to read what I'm thinking. They're f*cked up enough as it is. 9.9
Sidney: Too bad. You know the idea won't leave my mind until it's written down, so hop to it, mister. u.u
Sands: (thinks she's crazier than he is and edges out of the room) o.o'
Sidney: (rolls eyes) 9.9 Anyway . . . enjoy, guys!
~*~
"Shaddap," a rough voice demanded.
The chatter of the classroom died down immediately as every student swerved around in their seats, wanting to look as though they were intent on paying attention.
At the front of the room stood their teacher, Miss Kovinski, – 'Miss K' to her students – hands on her hips, brow furrowed, thin lips pursed, and beady eyes scrutinized her students. Twelve years of teaching eleventh grade English had not affected the teacher's appearance in the least. Her face still held a permanently squinted image, her figure was still tall, lean, and slightly muscular, and not once in her teaching career had she worn a skirt. As far as Miss Kovinski was concerned, it was pants all the way. Recently, however, the teacher had ditched her shoulder-length hairdo for a short, spiky butch cut with platinum blond highlights. She was, in some student's opinions, a poster child for feminine rights.
"I trust you all did your homework," she stated rather than asked.
There was instant mayhem as the pupils scrambled to unearth their assignments before the teacher had to ask a second time. All except one, however. Not one to be shaken by a teacher's wrath – no matter how burly they were – seventeen-year-old Jeffery Sands leaned back in his seat, casually picking at a hangnail. Miss Kovinski saw this at once and pounced.
In just three strides with her long legs Miss K was in front of Sands' desk, her most fearsome glare plastered upon her ever-scowling face. Several heads turned, each one wearing an eager look of malice. Completely unperturbed, Sands glanced up at his teacher.
Ah, I see she bleached the 'stache again . . .
He lowered his eyes, his attention attracted to his nails once again.
Miss K cleared her throat theatrically. A few people snickered. By now, the entire class was watching her, save for one single person. Sands knew he couldn't continue his charade forever – while his nails were far more exciting than one of Miss K's ramblings about English, they weren't that interesting. He would need to acknowledge his teacher sooner or later, and though he would much rather do it later, the former option was the one he had to go with.
Looking up with large, innocent eyes, he asked, "Did you want something, Miss K?"
It was an act, and the class knew it. Smirking at the quiet laughter that followed his question, Sands met Miss Kovinski's angry glare with a cool gaze of his own. It soon changed, however, when his teacher answered him.
"As a matter of fact, I did, Shelmo."
Now the class was really laughing, but Sands ignored them, refusing to let his irritation show, yet he could not stop the dark cloud still crept into his eyes.
"Do you have the assignment?" Miss K demanded.
"Actually –" Sands began.
"I knew it," the teacher announced, looking around the room to see if her kids were watching. "I knew it. You don't have it done, do ya, sword-face?"
Sands arched an eyebrow at the name but chose not to comment on it. Instead he said, "Actually I do." Reaching down, he pulled a thin, slightly crumpled pile of papers out from underneath his desk and presented them to Miss K. The class snickered again. Not wanting to be shown up by one of her students, Miss Kovinski kept up her sarcastic attitude even as she accepted the assignment.
"Why thank you, Shelmo, I'll make sure to grade this one right away. Lord knows it's bound to be interesting."
Without another word she turned on her heel and stalked back over to her desk. The students glanced around at each other, each one just as confused as the next.
"Did she give us any work to do . . . ?" someone murmured to their neighbor.
"Shut it," Miss K snarled, looking up from her desk. "I didn't forget."
Doubt that, Sands mused, certain that several of his so-called peers were thinking along the same lines.
"Turn to page 335," the teacher ordered. "Start reading and then answer the questions when you get to the end of the story."
Ah, hell. I've already read this one, Sands muttered, frowning down at his literature book. Heavy, bold lettering spelled out the title The Miracle Worker. Letting out a sigh of frustration, Sands stole a glance at his English teacher. She didn't notice, already submerged in correcting someone's homework for errors. Leaning forward to get a closer look at the papers in Miss K's hand, Sands grinned, realizing that the assignment was his.
~*~