Saturday 21 June 2014

'Full Marks' by Elaine Miles

I wish you’d stop standing there, gawping.  Surely you’re not that stupid.  Did you honestly not see this coming?
Teacher training didn’t prepare you for this, did it.  Didn’t prepare you for me, fifteen, hot ( let’s not deny it), bursting out of my uniform, desperate for a shag.  Or so you think.
Big mistake, letting me stay behind so many times.  You should at least have kept the classroom door open.   Did you really believe I was that interested in Chaucer?  I fucking hate Chaucer.  Got those questions off the internet.  You seriously thought I was that keen?
You know what they say.  Don’t get mad;  get even.  It’s nothing personal.  You just happen to fit the profile, that’s all.  Poor you.  Old enough to be disgusting, far enough from retirement to be destroyed.   And, most importantly, you remind me of him.
I can’t fix him, so it’s going to have to be you, I’m afraid.   And who are they going to believe?  Traumatised,  pre-pubescent schoolgirl or sagging, overweight, divorced English teacher?  It’s a no-brainer.
Oh, please don’t beg …that is so pathetic.  Begging’s pointless.  I should know.
I expect you’re thinking, ‘Why me?’  While I’m thinking, ‘Why not you?’  Not that I blame you.  I used to ask myself that question all the time, but I was just a kid then.  I know better now.  Because life’s random, isn’t it.  Stuff happens and we’ve just got to deal with it.  We’ve got that in common now.  Random stuff, just happening to us.  That’s nice.  Gives us a special bond.
And I’m fresh kill.   Confused?   Let me explain.  You see, I’ve still got last night’s battle scars which’ll give my story a really authentic feel.   Stroke of genius on my part, don’t you think?  He doesn’t normally do it on a Tuesday  night, so I really had to think on my feet.  Took him by surprise when I fought back  because normally I play dead like I’m not even there but this time I pushed him  off me and he was livid and I thought you stupid bastard you’ve played right into my hands which is fucking ironic because it’s been the other way round up to now.   In more ways than one.  See what I did there?  Did you enjoy the wordplay?  You taught me how to do that.  You should be proud.
 I freshened up the scratches on my legs when you were droning on about The Wife of Bath earlier.  You didn’t even notice, did you.   You want to pay more attention.
So when I go crying to the headmaster any minute now, you won’t stand a chance.
You look a bit pale, Sir.  You should sit down.  Oh, for God’s sake,  don’t blub … do you honestly think I give a shit?   What?  Am I scaring you?  It’s not like I’m going to attack you with a knife or anything.  I’m not getting mad.
I’m getting even.

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