Five
I’m usually better at pretending to fit in. Not to the point of going unnoticed, but I don’t tend to stand out as anything other than a flirt.
As the day passes, I get more and more irritated by little nothings that shouldn’t even have attracted my notice. My patience for everything has been smashed into a thousand shards.
This morning, it was the teacher’s teeth. Mrs. Motts wasn’t very fond of oral hygiene. I’d noticed that yesterday, but now, something green was stuck between her lateral incisor and her canine. Lettuce. Spinach. Maybe even kale.
I itch to prick at it with something sharp. A spaghetti noodle. A pencil. Skewer. If that fails, I don’t mind pricking her head with the sharp end of a kitchen knife until it stops bothering me.
She isn’t responsible for my irritation.
