Back at home, I sit legs crossed on my bed. I have my journal on my lap and am gripping a pen, concentrating on a new story idea I wish to show on paper. Right, right. This should do.
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I am currently sitting in my last period classroom. Seniors are always let out early on Fridays, one hour before all the miscreants come filing out of their classrooms and infiltrate the halls of the school. And they said seniors where scary.
Mrs. Generous, the teacher currently running History, is anything but kind despite her last name. She's wearing a black flowy dress that deluge over her ankles, black dirty rain boots and a splenetic expression that the fiercest of people would cower in their corners if they were to look at her. Every time o
