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| Prelude to a Jail Sentence |
This story is completely fictional. I have never been in a physical confrontation, but I hope I have enough sense not to get into one. This piece comes purely from my imagination. |
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No girl in the entire known universe did I despise more than Shaniqua Jackson.
She was one of those people who spoke with a sarcastic sneer coating her every
word. A short black girl in my chorus class, Shaniqua always dressed like a guy,
with her hair braided back in corn rolls. She strut around the room, jeering at
people, making tempers rise. I hated her for the fact that she thought she owned
the world. A few days prior to this fateful day in my life, my chorus teacher had moved Shaniqua to sit next to me owing to her brazenness towards authority and those around her encouraging it. I felt fortunate that we had not scrambled already. Even though I had always been carefree and lighthearted, when Shaniqua strode into the chorus room and degraded me in the most ridiculous manners possible. I acted dismally out of character. She did not own the world, and she did not own me. # It was just one of those days where nothing had gone correctly. The incessant teasing from my classmates had permeated my thick skin, one of the few times it did so. I walked into the chorus room feeling tense. Our teacher excused herself from the room to use the facilities, and Shaniqua began. She poked and prodded me with every insult in her book, a book that she probably could not read. They ranged from my streaky hair to my overly large breasts. I sat, clenching my fists and blocking her out of my mind, enduring her taunting for what seemed like ages. Then, as she leaned back in her chair, Shaniqua pushed the line. She called me four-eyes. Before I could regain some sense of self control, I had gripped the leg of Shaniqua’s chair and thrown it back. If her intelligence had slipped so far as to use such a childish aspersion, she deserved to be deposited in the floor with a satisfying thump. Shaniqua stood. I was sure she tried to gather what pride she had to make her next move as the classroom fell silent. Once she opened her mouth, my adrenaline flooded into me, blocking out her poignant voice. The girl’s sharp fingernail dug into my skull. I fought for control over my rage as it buzzed around in my head, blocking out all sound. I only knew that biting pain of her fingernail on my head. I could see her in the glass across from us, yelling to someone across the room. My heart pounded. Soon, the pain of that nail overcame me, and I swatted it away. Shaniqua smacked my head. What happened next, I can only sort out in my dreams. Even now, years afterwards I am not sure the details of these events are accurate. Only the newspapers seemed to get a concept of what occurred. Rage overtook my control, and I was someone completely different. I stood, glaring at the termagant. I wanted to feel my fist on her flesh, to release all of my day’s torments on her. But she acted first. Shaniqua shoved her fist into my glasses. I felt the shards of what used to be the lens slice into my eye. The pain shot up through my head, and the force of her blow sent me tumbling over the rows of chairs in the room. I felt my body clash with the piano. More pain ripped through my body, and I bit my tongue. She couldn’t know I was hurt. I closed my eyes, feeling consciousness fade in and out. The shrill cries of my classmates screaming, “Fight, fight!” brought me back to my senses. My unscathed eye shot open, stretching the skin of my other eye and sending another jolt of pain around my face. Shaniqua, I noted, sauntered from her previous spot down to me. She thought I was out. I lunged at her. My head plowed into her stomach and we both tumbled onto the floor in a scramble. I rammed my fist into her bony face over and over again. I wanted her to feel my rage. I wanted to annihilate her--twist every feature of her hideous countenance until her face was little more than blood. Gravity pulled me down, and Shaniqua launched herself on top of me. Her hands came down around my throat, and her knee pushed down on my diaphragm. Air left my lungs and could not come back in. I lifted my hands to her bloody throat and tried to push her off. It did no good. I pulled my other eye open, feeling the glass shred my outer lid, the blood of which began to pour down my face. I looked with both eyes at who soon would be my murderer. Her face was ripped to shreds and she looked as if she had come out of a horror movie. I took a small comfort in knowing I had massacred her face. The low-blowing ogress bled on me. I did not want her repugnant face to be the last thing I ever saw. It seemed, however, that I had no choice. My vision began to dim. No! I could not die here or now with this incompetent monstrosity on top of me. I would not allow it! As these thoughts came into my head, a burst of energy flew through my body. I blinked back the dimness and saw my foot placed in her crotch. I pushed up. Shaniqua’s hands left my throat and Shaniqua herself catapulted into the large glass door of my teacher’s office. The glass shattered, slicing Shaniqua’s body as it rained down on her. The blood trailed down her horror-stricken face. She touched the liquid, gaping at it for a moment. Then, she fell back with a thump, just as our quarrel had begun. Shaniqua was, to my utter joy, no more. |
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| [A Paintbrush] [Prelude to a Jail Sentence] [The Girl Who had Nothing] [The Only One Who Knows] |
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[Annie Codwell,] |