A little story about triumphing hate starts with hate. Of course. Can't fight what's not there. Enjoy.
Kristen walked into room B13, sophomore history. Boring. She couldn't understand what was so important about all these dead guys and all the stupid things people killed each other over so long ago. With energy abundant for all, there was nothing to worry about, no wars, and no terrorism. Well, except on history class. Boring.
The bell rang and a black haired sophomore walked in. "Hey sugar doll," Spencer taunted, sitting down at the desk next to Kristen's desk. That desk belonged to her best friend, who was in Hawaii for the week.
"Spencer, shut up and get out of Marshall's desk," Kristen yelled.
"Quiet down, you two," Mr. Coin said. He seemed to have no patience for sophomore antics.
"Spencer, I'm going to beat your nose in," Kristen warned. "If you steal one more. . ."
"Did you want this?" Spencer taunted, holding up Kristen's mother's watch. He got up, sauntering back to his assigned seat. Kristen menacingly followed.
"Kristen, sit down," Mr. Coin insisted. "The bell has rung and class has started."
If you bother to start class at all, Kristen thought. She quickly snatched the watch and went back to her seat, sulking. Mr. Coin hated her. She was sure of it.
Kristen went home with Spencer on her tail as usual. "How are you, Sweetie?" Spencer teased, poking her with a pencil.
"Don't touch me, butt hole," she said, pushing him. "Go screw with someone else."
"But you're Kristy and all that crap," Spencer said. "You always need a good beating."
"I'm going to call the police," Kristen said, reaching for the phone in her pocket. Spencer stopped in his tracks.
"See if I care," he said, but he walked the other way for the first time since Kristen walked to school with a gun. Since then, her mother had confiscated it, but those had been the best weeks of her life. She wondered how long this would last.
Her idle threat only lasted the next day. By the end of the week, Spencer's tricks were back to full speed.
"Are you ever high?" Spencer asked in English class. Kristen asked the teacher if she could sit somewhere else.
At home, the ass had the nerve to call her. On a freaking phone. Only family ever did that anymore, and obnoxious telemarketers. Spencer was neither.
"What do you want, nutcase!" Kristen spat into the microphone.
"Your head on a stick," Spencer responded in a sickly sweet voice. "Your brown eyes in a jar, your black hair freeze dried, your…"
"You're sick!" Kristen screamed, punching the off button. Footsteps sounded outside her room, and Kristen's mom appeared in the doorway.
"What's going on, Kristy?" her mom asked.
"Nothing," Kristen muttered, plopping down on her bed.
"Well, if there's anything you need help with, I'm always here," Kristen's mom said. She took one last look at Kristen sprawled miserably on her bed and walked away.
The only thing she needed help with was getting rid of Spencer, and there was no way her mom would agree to help her with that. This was something Kristen had to do alone.
Kristen walked to first-period sophomore history with a mission. She felt the handle of her pistol in her pocket, ready as ever. As she scanned the faces of every person in the class, there was one missing.
"Did you hear about Spencer?" Marshall asked, grinning ear to ear. "Mr. Coin said he moved to Maryland."
"Maryland?" Kristen repeated. "That's… Really far." She stared at her friend, wondering if she heard her right.
"No more Spencer. Ever," Marshall said, beaming. "Aren't you excited?"
Six years of misery, now just over. Kristen knew she should have been elated, but she felt there was still something not done. She never got her revenge. The hate had built up for six years, and now, nothing. "It's awesome," Kristen managed, smiling.
"I knew you'd love it. Let's sit down before Coin starts yelling." Marshall bought Kristen's smile without a second thought.
"Okay," Kristen said, following her friend to their table group. History was boring, but at last, Spencer was gone. But the hate wasn't, and Kristen knew she would never be satisfied until he paid for what he had done.
Yes, I write short chapters. I hope that's not a problem, though.
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