Creative Writing

Chairs

DING! DING! Crap, of course the school bell has to ring now! Let’s just hope I don’t have to meet with Mr. Fat Albert again, he smells like rotting fish and he could probably lay off the cookies, I thought.

The students stormed in the class room screaming and yelling at one another, or should I say “talking” to one another. Soon enough the kids started picking their seats and then there he was; Mr. Fat Albert was coming right for me! “Oh no, oh no!” I …whispered to myself. “This is not happening!” Squish!

Ewe! was my only reaction when he first hit my seat. All his juicy blubber molded around my seat forming a perfect square. I will not be able to handle this for long! 4^th hour this fat arse is going to get it once and for all! When he gets back from lunch I’m going to bring down the hammer! I plotted.  

The kids rambunctiously entered the class room after lunch like a herd of baby elephants, all of them screaming and shouting. Then the real elephant walked in the room: Fat Albert. Every step he took you could fell the floor shake. Finally! Bring it on fatty!

Once he sat down I took my plan into action, I slowly rocked back and forth on my four legs, it felt like I had a 10,000 pound brick sitting on me but after I put enough force… POW! That kid hit the ground so hard I thought the ground would be dented, but it seemed like the ground was okay. “WAH!” Fat Albert wailed. “Mommy! Mommy! Where’s my mommy?”

“Oh I got that kid good this time,” I said as he got walked out of the room to nurses office balling.

“This chair must be broken, otherwise Johnny wouldn’t have tipped over,” the teacher told the class.

“Really his name is Johnny, wow I thought Fat Albert suited him better,” I said sarcastically.

“Well, would someone like to help me get this broken chair out of here?” asked Mrs. Douser.

“Me! Me! Me! Pick me!” shouted a boy from the back.

“Okay I guess Timmy will get to help me and he won’t have to do his math homework tonight,” Mrs. Douser stated. Instantly after that the whole room erupted with kids shouting “No I’ll do it!” or screaming, “Pick me instead!”

“Everybody quiet and in your seat now!” Mrs. Douser shouted. “Now Timmy let’s go bring this out to the garbage pick-up area.”

Wait no! You can’t take me out to the garbage disposal!” I dreaded as they picked me up and took me out. “I’m doomed, I thought. I’m doomed.