Talk:Luprecht Smith/@comment-124.150.52.205-20110310002338

I’ve always hated Monday mornings and for the obvious reasons. I’ve got school on Monday, School! School means more homework, more teachers, more getting ready before eight, no sleeping in and another day’s worth of crap. (Oh yeah, there’s always detention if I’m lucky.) So I woke up at around seven thirty… well that sucked, I was already late. I lifted my head off the pillow, looked around with half closed eyes and then dropped my head back down letting out a big sigh. Monday mornings suck. I tried to move my legs, but I couldn’t. I felt as if someone had tied my legs to giant weights that slowly pushed downward into the soft, warm, comfortable mattress. I looked out my window, I saw a cockroach run past on the windowsill. (on the other side) The cockroach had a kind o bluish tinge to its body, it was probably stuck in blue paint at some point. I usually saw this cockroach every now and then, it probably lived outside my house. I finally managed to roll out of bed and landed with a thump on my bedroom floor. Stuff like that always happened on Mondays. I walked passed my wardrobe slowly, my feet dragging themselves across the floor, I felt like some fat guy who’d had too much to drink. I almost tripped on a rug laid out on the carpet, the rug was knitted by grandma as a birthday present for mum. Mum had hated the rug; I think that’s why she just dumped it outside my bedroom door. I walked into the kitchen, scratching my head and yawning at the same time. My sister Molly was already sitting at the table dressed in her school clothes, hair brushed, shoes on, face washed. It was as if she’d woken up at five o’clock in the morning and had been doing homework ever since. Then I realised that she probably had. You see, my sister Molly is a huge nerd, she’s still in primary school and she studies for things that she doesn’t need. Yesterday I think she borrowed a book from the library about pathophysiology. And that’s just one example; she’s probably got Advanced Chemistry, The encyclopedia of great literature, intermediate biology and Economics for experts all hidden somewhere in her room. I know she’s… smart, but seriously, all those books? It’s a little over the top. I don’t think she reads any of them, I’m pretty sure she just gets them from the library and pretends to read them just to look cute. Molly was sitting at the table doing homework. That’s right, homework. Why would anyone do homework on a Monday morning? Think about it, wouldn’t you want to spend your last moments of freedom (before a week full of torture) doing something fun? I’d rather take my eyes out with a fork than do homework on a Monday morning. (Okay, maybe that was a bit of an overreaction, but still…) So anyway my sister was sitting at the kitchen table. Two notebooks open and a row of sharpened pencils all lined up neatly beside a clean sheet of paper covered with Molly’s writing. ‘Why?’ I asked. She stared at me like I was an idiot and then gave me some stupid explanation about how her teacher wanted her to “revise and complete a full”… never mind, it made no sense. She seemed to be studying some division crap. I quickly had breakfast and brushed my teeth, next I got changed, grabbed my sneakers and ran out the door. So, about an hour later (Once I had gotten to school) I was in English listening to Mrs Reed go on about some novel we’ve had to read over the last week. I didn’t read much of it, I read the start of it in class last week (Only because Mrs Reed was watching me like a hawk) and it was about some guy who’d lost his arm in the war and then meets a girl who won’t fall in love with him, or something like that. I was drawing a series of pictures in my notebook, each one depicting a different way for Mrs Reed to die. The one I was drawing now, showed a family sitting around a dinner table chewing on her body parts. It was actually a pretty good drawing. ‘Jacob,’ Mrs Reed shrieked, her voice so horrible, it sounded like someone had tried shoving a cake mixer into a cat’s mouth. ‘Yeah.’ I said, looking up from my drawing. ‘What techniques did the author use to develop the characters and convey the message in the text?’ I had no idea what she was crapping on about so I just took a guess. ‘Uh… I think the author…’ I was hoping I didn’t screw this up. ‘…the author used… big… big words and they had… meaning which…’ I couldn’t do it any longer so I stopped. All eyes were on me, waiting for me to say something about the book. ‘Actually, I don’t know…’ I said as I took a deep breath. Mrs Reed raised an eyebrow. ‘I don’t know, Mrs Reed.’ I said. She glared at me like an angry bull; I could almost imagine the hot air blowing out of her crooked nose. The wrinkles on her forehead squeezed together tightly making her face look like someone’s intestines. I braced myself for another scream, instead she swallowed and spoke in a calmer voice than what I’d become accustomed to of Mrs Reed ‘You didn’t read it…’ she said, ‘You’ll see me after class.’ So, English pretty much sucked, just as I thought it would. I must be a psychic. After English some idiot named Wes came up to me with my notebook. ‘Hey Marshwell, you lose this?’ ‘Yeah,’ I said, but I didn’t understand it, Wes hated me. Why would he go to the trouble of returning my book? ‘Here.’ He passed me the book, it felt a bit damp. Well, maybe Wes had decided to be nicer to me after all, maybe he felt bad for using duct tape to stick me to one of the toilet doors last week. (Yep, he went there.) I put the book into my bag and walked off. ‘Thanks.’ I shouted as I left. I walked into science. (What a crap day this was turning out to be.) I took out my book. ‘So,’ said Mr Hodges. ‘Will every one take out a new sheet of paper and write down today’s heading?’ Unlike Mrs Reed, Mr Hodges was a short little man with a squeaky voice, he wore glasses and always seemed to have a cold. Everyday he would come to school in an ugly jumper his mum had probably made him. I opened up my book and I was immediately greeted by the smell of toilet water. I had to hold my breath. Wes had dunked my book into the toilet. (What was it with this guy and toilet humour?) How’d I know Wes had done it? There was a piece of toilet paper on the first page. On it Wes had written a message, written in a strange green ink the toilet paper read:

Jake, You suck. Wes

I turned around and saw Wes sitting behind me, he was grinning.

-*-

Wes was an asshole. He had dunked my book in the toilet and yet somehow he hadn’t gotten in to trouble. Wes always did bad things to other people, he was a typical bully, he’d swear at everyone, he’d beat up every one, and if you were lucky, all you got was an unfair nickname. Wes would get called up to the principals office during class and then come back at the end of the lesson with a smile on his face. The next day at school another person would be punished for what Wes had done. It was as if Wes could control the minds of teachers and make them do what ever he wanted. Actually, I think he probably threatened to kill them. One time, Wes kicked the crap out of this kid, Shaun Binning, and just left him on the ground. Wes was spotted by the teacher and taken to the principal’s office, about five minutes later, guess who’s sitting in the principal’s office explaining why poor Shaun has a broken wrist? Me. And instead of being in trouble, Wes is sitting on a bench outside, rummaging through Shaun’s lunchbox. I had to get revenge for the book in the toilet prank and the duct tape to the toilet door one too, so on Tuesday…I was going to get him. It all started during lunch. I was sitting on the bench as I always did watching the road and all the cars that drove by. I wanted to escape from this school right now, but I still had P.E. and another lesson in hell (A.K.A. English) before the end of the day. I pulled my sandwich out of my bag. That was when Wes began walking over. ‘What do you want? I asked. ‘I dunno.’ He shrugged. ‘Then get lo…’ He swung his foot out quickly and kicked my sandwich out of my hand. It landed on the road. As I jumped up to grab it, a massive truck came rumbling past and drove over it. Okay, now I had three reasons to kill Wes, for sticking me to the toilet door, for dunking my book in the toilet and for throwing my sandwich on the road. ‘Hey… I was going to eat that.’ Wes smirked. ‘Good luck.’ He said laughing. I looked at the sandwich, now a pile of mush on the road. We had P.E. next, and apart from doing something stupid with a towel in the change rooms, Wes didn’t bother me too much. So we were playing football or something in P.E. This was my chance to defeat Wes. We were on different teams. So the game started off good, apparently we were winning because someone had the ball and got it past the um… what do you call it? The thing is, I’m not very good at sport. Or sport terminology for that matter. Any way I think we were winning, which was good. Some-one passed the ball to me; I didn’t know what to do with it so I just ran for a bit looking for someone on my team. There was no one, only people from Wes’ team were there. Then Wes tripped me and I fell over onto the ground. My nose hurt like… I dunno but it hurt really badly. I could feel blood in my mouth. I stood up, everyone was laughing. Wes was standing closest to me, his evil smile displayed happily upon his face. That was it, I was going to kill him. I got up and threw my fist at him. Wes fell over and I kicked him. He grabbed my leg in mid air and twisted it. I fell over backwards writhing in pain. Wes laughed. ‘That the best you got?’ I couldn’t stand him. I tried to kick him from on the ground but I missed. I got up and ran towards him. Everyone was staring at Wes and me. I tackled him onto the ground and there was an explosion of punches. Wes pushed me off of him and I landed on the face down. We fought for a bit, I sware he was trying to kill me. I mean literally kill me. Someone tried to stop us but I pushed him away, I didn’t want this fight broken up, I wanted Wes to suffer, I wanted… “CRACK!” My nose exploded with pain. I think it was broken. The next thing I know I was on the ground staring up at the sky, excruciating pain pulsing in my nose. The last thing I saw before everything went black, was Wes’ foot come down like a brick, at my face. You know how I said that I’d get Wes for what he’d done? Yeah, well, I guess that didn’t go so well.

I’ve always hated Monday mornings and for the obvious reasons. I’ve got school on Monday, School! School means more homework, more teachers, more getting ready before eight, no sleeping in and another day’s worth of crap. (Oh yeah, there’s always detention if I’m lucky.) So I woke up at around seven thirty… well that sucked, I was already late. I lifted my head off the pillow, looked around with half closed eyes and then dropped my head back down letting out a big sigh. Monday mornings suck. I tried to move my legs, but I couldn’t. I felt as if someone had tied my legs to giant weights that slowly pushed downward into the soft, warm, comfortable mattress. I looked out my window, I saw a cockroach run past on the windowsill. (on the other side) The cockroach had a kind o bluish tinge to its body, it was probably stuck in blue paint at some point. I usually saw this cockroach every now and then, it probably lived outside my house. I finally managed to roll out of bed and landed with a thump on my bedroom floor. Stuff like that always happened on Mondays. I walked passed my wardrobe slowly, my feet dragging themselves across the floor, I felt like some fat guy who’d had too much to drink. I almost tripped on a rug laid out on the carpet, the rug was knitted by grandma as a birthday present for mum. Mum had hated the rug; I think that’s why she just dumped it outside my bedroom door. I walked into the kitchen, scratching my head and yawning at the same time. My sister Molly was already sitting at the table dressed in her school clothes, hair brushed, shoes on, face washed. It was as if she’d woken up at five o’clock in the morning and had been doing homework ever since. Then I realised that she probably had. You see, my sister Molly is a huge nerd, she’s still in primary school and she studies for things that she doesn’t need. Yesterday I think she borrowed a book from the library about pathophysiology. And that’s just one example; she’s probably got Advanced Chemistry, The encyclopedia of great literature, intermediate biology and Economics for experts all hidden somewhere in her room. I know she’s… smart, but seriously, all those books? It’s a little over the top. I don’t think she reads any of them, I’m pretty sure she just gets them from the library and pretends to read them just to look cute. Molly was sitting at the table doing homework. That’s right, homework. Why would anyone do homework on a Monday morning? Think about it, wouldn’t you want to spend your last moments of freedom (before a week full of torture) doing something fun? I’d rather take my eyes out with a fork than do homework on a Monday morning. (Okay, maybe that was a bit of an overreaction, but still…) So anyway my sister was sitting at the kitchen table. Two notebooks open and a row of sharpened pencils all lined up neatly beside a clean sheet of paper covered with Molly’s writing. ‘Why?’ I asked. She stared at me like I was an idiot and then gave me some stupid explanation about how her teacher wanted her to “revise and complete a full”… never mind, it made no sense. She seemed to be studying some division crap. I quickly had breakfast and brushed my teeth, next I got changed, grabbed my sneakers and ran out the door. So, about an hour later (Once I had gotten to school) I was in English listening to Mrs Reed go on about some novel we’ve had to read over the last week. I didn’t read much of it, I read the start of it in class last week (Only because Mrs Reed was watching me like a hawk) and it was about some guy who’d lost his arm in the war and then meets a girl who won’t fall in love with him, or something like that. I was drawing a series of pictures in my notebook, each one depicting a different way for Mrs Reed to die. The one I was drawing now, showed a family sitting around a dinner table chewing on her body parts. It was actually a pretty good drawing. ‘Jacob,’ Mrs Reed shrieked, her voice so horrible, it sounded like someone had tried shoving a cake mixer into a cat’s mouth. ‘Yeah.’ I said, looking up from my drawing. ‘What techniques did the author use to develop the characters and convey the message in the text?’ I had no idea what she was crapping on about so I just took a guess. ‘Uh… I think the author…’ I was hoping I didn’t screw this up. ‘…the author used… big… big words and they had… meaning which…’ I couldn’t do it any longer so I stopped. All eyes were on me, waiting for me to say something about the book. ‘Actually, I don’t know…’ I said as I took a deep breath. Mrs Reed raised an eyebrow. ‘I don’t know, Mrs Reed.’ I said. She glared at me like an angry bull; I could almost imagine the hot air blowing out of her crooked nose. The wrinkles on her forehead squeezed together tightly making her face look like someone’s intestines. I braced myself for another scream, instead she swallowed and spoke in a calmer voice than what I’d become accustomed to of Mrs Reed ‘You didn’t read it…’ she said, ‘You’ll see me after class.’ So, English pretty much sucked, just as I thought it would. I must be a psychic. After English some idiot named Wes came up to me with my notebook. ‘Hey Marshwell, you lose this?’ ‘Yeah,’ I said, but I didn’t understand it, Wes hated me. Why would he go to the trouble of returning my book? ‘Here.’ He passed me the book, it felt a bit damp. Well, maybe Wes had decided to be nicer to me after all, maybe he felt bad for using duct tape to stick me to one of the toilet doors last week. (Yep, he went there.) I put the book into my bag and walked off. ‘Thanks.’ I shouted as I left. I walked into science. (What a crap day this was turning out to be.) I took out my book. ‘So,’ said Mr Hodges. ‘Will every one take out a new sheet of paper and write down today’s heading?’ Unlike Mrs Reed, Mr Hodges was a short little man with a squeaky voice, he wore glasses and always seemed to have a cold. Everyday he would come to school in an ugly jumper his mum had probably made him. I opened up my book and I was immediately greeted by the smell of toilet water. I had to hold my breath. Wes had dunked my book into the toilet. (What was it with this guy and toilet humour?) How’d I know Wes had done it? There was a piece of toilet paper on the first page. On it Wes had written a message, written in a strange green ink the toilet paper read:

Jake, You suck. Wes

I turned around and saw Wes sitting behind me, he was grinning.

-*-

Wes was an asshole. He had dunked my book in the toilet and yet somehow he hadn’t gotten in to trouble. Wes always did bad things to other people, he was a typical bully, he’d swear at everyone, he’d beat up every one, and if you were lucky, all you got was an unfair nickname. Wes would get called up to the principals office during class and then come back at the end of the lesson with a smile on his face. The next day at school another person would be punished for what Wes had done. It was as if Wes could control the minds of teachers and make them do what ever he wanted. Actually, I think he probably threatened to kill them. One time, Wes kicked the crap out of this kid, Shaun Binning, and just left him on the ground. Wes was spotted by the teacher and taken to the principal’s office, about five minutes later, guess who’s sitting in the principal’s office explaining why poor Shaun has a broken wrist? Me. And instead of being in trouble, Wes is sitting on a bench outside, rummaging through Shaun’s lunchbox. I had to get revenge for the book in the toilet prank and the duct tape to the toilet door one too, so on Tuesday…I was going to get him. It all started during lunch. I was sitting on the bench as I always did watching the road and all the cars that drove by. I wanted to escape from this school right now, but I still had P.E. and another lesson in hell (A.K.A. English) before the end of the day. I pulled my sandwich out of my bag. That was when Wes began walking over. ‘What do you want? I asked. ‘I dunno.’ He shrugged. ‘Then get lo…’ He swung his foot out quickly and kicked my sandwich out of my hand. It landed on the road. As I jumped up to grab it, a massive truck came rumbling past and drove over it. Okay, now I had three reasons to kill Wes, for sticking me to the toilet door, for dunking my book in the toilet and for throwing my sandwich on the road. ‘Hey… I was going to eat that.’ Wes smirked. ‘Good luck.’ He said laughing. I looked at the sandwich, now a pile of mush on the road. We had P.E. next, and apart from doing something stupid with a towel in the change rooms, Wes didn’t bother me too much. So we were playing football or something in P.E. This was my chance to defeat Wes. We were on different teams. So the game started off good, apparently we were winning because someone had the ball and got it past the um… what do you call it? The thing is, I’m not very good at sport. Or sport terminology for that matter. Any way I think we were winning, which was good. Some-one passed the ball to me; I didn’t know what to do with it so I just ran for a bit looking for someone on my team. There was no one, only people from Wes’ team were there. Then Wes tripped me and I fell over onto the ground. My nose hurt like… I dunno but it hurt really badly. I could feel blood in my mouth. I stood up, everyone was laughing. Wes was standing closest to me, his evil smile displayed happily upon his face. That was it, I was going to kill him. I got up and threw my fist at him. Wes fell over and I kicked him. He grabbed my leg in mid air and twisted it. I fell over backwards writhing in pain. Wes laughed. ‘That the best you got?’ I couldn’t stand him. I tried to kick him from on the ground but I missed. I got up and ran towards him. Everyone was staring at Wes and me. I tackled him onto the ground and there was an explosion of punches. Wes pushed me off of him and I landed on the face down. We fought for a bit, I sware he was trying to kill me. I mean literally kill me. Someone tried to stop us but I pushed him away, I didn’t want this fight broken up, I wanted Wes to suffer, I wanted… “CRACK!” My nose exploded with pain. I think it was broken. The next thing I know I was on the ground staring up at the sky, excruciating pain pulsing in my nose. The last thing I saw before everything went black, was Wes’ foot come down like a brick, at my face. You know how I said that I’d get Wes for what he’d done? Yeah, well, I guess that didn’t go so well.

I’ve always hated Monday mornings and for the obvious reasons. I’ve got school on Monday, School! School means more homework, more teachers, more getting ready before eight, no sleeping in and another day’s worth of crap. (Oh yeah, there’s always detention if I’m lucky.) So I woke up at around seven thirty… well that sucked, I was already late. I lifted my head off the pillow, looked around with half closed eyes and then dropped my head back down letting out a big sigh. Monday mornings suck. I tried to move my legs, but I couldn’t. I felt as if someone had tied my legs to giant weights that slowly pushed downward into the soft, warm, comfortable mattress. I looked out my window, I saw a cockroach run past on the windowsill. (on the other side) The cockroach had a kind o bluish tinge to its body, it was probably stuck in blue paint at some point. I usually saw this cockroach every now and then, it probably lived outside my house. I finally managed to roll out of bed and landed with a thump on my bedroom floor. Stuff like that always happened on Mondays. I walked passed my wardrobe slowly, my feet dragging themselves across the floor, I felt like some fat guy who’d had too much to drink. I almost tripped on a rug laid out on the carpet, the rug was knitted by grandma as a birthday present for mum. Mum had hated the rug; I think that’s why she just dumped it outside my bedroom door. I walked into the kitchen, scratching my head and yawning at the same time. My sister Molly was already sitting at the table dressed in her school clothes, hair brushed, shoes on, face washed. It was as if she’d woken up at five o’clock in the morning and had been doing homework ever since. Then I realised that she probably had. You see, my sister Molly is a huge nerd, she’s still in primary school and she studies for things that she doesn’t need. Yesterday I think she borrowed a book from the library about pathophysiology. And that’s just one example; she’s probably got Advanced Chemistry, The encyclopedia of great literature, intermediate biology and Economics for experts all hidden somewhere in her room. I know she’s… smart, but seriously, all those books? It’s a little over the top. I don’t think she reads any of them, I’m pretty sure she just gets them from the library and pretends to read them just to look cute. Molly was sitting at the table doing homework. That’s right, homework. Why would anyone do homework on a Monday morning? Think about it, wouldn’t you want to spend your last moments of freedom (before a week full of torture) doing something fun? I’d rather take my eyes out with a fork than do homework on a Monday morning. (Okay, maybe that was a bit of an overreaction, but still…) So anyway my sister was sitting at the kitchen table. Two notebooks open and a row of sharpened pencils all lined up neatly beside a clean sheet of paper covered with Molly’s writing. ‘Why?’ I asked. She stared at me like I was an idiot and then gave me some stupid explanation about how her teacher wanted her to “revise and complete a full”… never mind, it made no sense. She seemed to be studying some division crap. I quickly had breakfast and brushed my teeth, next I got changed, grabbed my sneakers and ran out the door. So, about an hour later (Once I had gotten to school) I was in English listening to Mrs Reed go on about some novel we’ve had to read over the last week. I didn’t read much of it, I read the start of it in class last week (Only because Mrs Reed was watching me like a hawk) and it was about some guy who’d lost his arm in the war and then meets a girl who won’t fall in love with him, or something like that. I was drawing a series of pictures in my notebook, each one depicting a different way for Mrs Reed to die. The one I was drawing now, showed a family sitting around a dinner table chewing on her body parts. It was actually a pretty good drawing. ‘Jacob,’ Mrs Reed shrieked, her voice so horrible, it sounded like someone had tried shoving a cake mixer into a cat’s mouth. ‘Yeah.’ I said, looking up from my drawing. ‘What techniques did the author use to develop the characters and convey the message in the text?’ I had no idea what she was crapping on about so I just took a guess. ‘Uh… I think the author…’ I was hoping I didn’t screw this up. ‘…the author used… big… big words and they had… meaning which…’ I couldn’t do it any longer so I stopped. All eyes were on me, waiting for me to say something about the book. ‘Actually, I don’t know…’ I said as I took a deep breath. Mrs Reed raised an eyebrow. ‘I don’t know, Mrs Reed.’ I said. She glared at me like an angry bull; I could almost imagine the hot air blowing out of her crooked nose. The wrinkles on her forehead squeezed together tightly making her face look like someone’s intestines. I braced myself for another scream, instead she swallowed and spoke in a calmer voice than what I’d become accustomed to of Mrs Reed ‘You didn’t read it…’ she said, ‘You’ll see me after class.’ So, English pretty much sucked, just as I thought it would. I must be a psychic. After English some idiot named Wes came up to me with my notebook. ‘Hey Marshwell, you lose this?’ ‘Yeah,’ I said, but I didn’t understand it, Wes hated me. Why would he go to the trouble of returning my book? ‘Here.’ He passed me the book, it felt a bit damp. Well, maybe Wes had decided to be nicer to me after all, maybe he felt bad for using duct tape to stick me to one of the toilet doors last week. (Yep, he went there.) I put the book into my bag and walked off. ‘Thanks.’ I shouted as I left. I walked into science. (What a crap day this was turning out to be.) I took out my book. ‘So,’ said Mr Hodges. ‘Will every one take out a new sheet of paper and write down today’s heading?’ Unlike Mrs Reed, Mr Hodges was a short little man with a squeaky voice, he wore glasses and always seemed to have a cold. Everyday he would come to school in an ugly jumper his mum had probably made him. I opened up my book and I was immediately greeted by the smell of toilet water. I had to hold my breath. Wes had dunked my book into the toilet. (What was it with this guy and toilet humour?) How’d I know Wes had done it? There was a piece of toilet paper on the first page. On it Wes had written a message, written in a strange green ink the toilet paper read:

Jake, You suck. Wes

I turned around and saw Wes sitting behind me, he was grinning.

-*-

Wes was an asshole. He had dunked my book in the toilet and yet somehow he hadn’t gotten in to trouble. Wes always did bad things to other people, he was a typical bully, he’d swear at everyone, he’d beat up every one, and if you were lucky, all you got was an unfair nickname. Wes would get called up to the principals office during class and then come back at the end of the lesson with a smile on his face. The next day at school another person would be punished for what Wes had done. It was as if Wes could control the minds of teachers and make them do what ever he wanted. Actually, I think he probably threatened to kill them. One time, Wes kicked the crap out of this kid, Shaun Binning, and just left him on the ground. Wes was spotted by the teacher and taken to the principal’s office, about five minutes later, guess who’s sitting in the principal’s office explaining why poor Shaun has a broken wrist? Me. And instead of being in trouble, Wes is sitting on a bench outside, rummaging through Shaun’s lunchbox. I had to get revenge for the book in the toilet prank and the duct tape to the toilet door one too, so on Tuesday…I was going to get him. It all started during lunch. I was sitting on the bench as I always did watching the road and all the cars that drove by. I wanted to escape from this school right now, but I still had P.E. and another lesson in hell (A.K.A. English) before the end of the day. I pulled my sandwich out of my bag. That was when Wes began walking over. ‘What do you want? I asked. ‘I dunno.’ He shrugged. ‘Then get lo…’ He swung his foot out quickly and kicked my sandwich out of my hand. It landed on the road. As I jumped up to grab it, a massive truck came rumbling past and drove over it. Okay, now I had three reasons to kill Wes, for sticking me to the toilet door, for dunking my book in the toilet and for throwing my sandwich on the road. ‘Hey… I was going to eat that.’ Wes smirked. ‘Good luck.’ He said laughing. I looked at the sandwich, now a pile of mush on the road. We had P.E. next, and apart from doing something stupid with a towel in the change rooms, Wes didn’t bother me too much. So we were playing football or something in P.E. This was my chance to defeat Wes. We were on different teams. So the game started off good, apparently we were winning because someone had the ball and got it past the um… what do you call it? The thing is, I’m not very good at sport. Or sport terminology for that matter. Any way I think we were winning, which was good. Some-one passed the ball to me; I didn’t know what to do with it so I just ran for a bit looking for someone on my team. There was no one, only people from Wes’ team were there. Then Wes tripped me and I fell over onto the ground. My nose hurt like… I dunno but it hurt really badly. I could feel blood in my mouth. I stood up, everyone was laughing. Wes was standing closest to me, his evil smile displayed happily upon his face. That was it, I was going to kill him. I got up and threw my fist at him. Wes fell over and I kicked him. He grabbed my leg in mid air and twisted it. I fell over backwards writhing in pain. Wes laughed. ‘That the best you got?’ I couldn’t stand him. I tried to kick him from on the ground but I missed. I got up and ran towards him. Everyone was staring at Wes and me. I tackled him onto the ground and there was an explosion of punches. Wes pushed me off of him and I landed on the face down. We fought for a bit, I sware he was trying to kill me. I mean literally kill me. Someone tried to stop us but I pushed him away, I didn’t want this fight broken up, I wanted Wes to suffer, I wanted… “CRACK!” My nose exploded with pain. I think it was broken. The next thing I know I was on the ground staring up at the sky, excruciating pain pulsing in my nose. The last thing I saw before everything went black, was Wes’ foot come down like a brick, at my face. You know how I said that I’d get Wes for what he’d done? Yeah, well, I guess that didn’t go so well.