September 12th. I’ve been waiting for this day for ages. I slowly roll out of bed at the sound of my alarm and feed my non-stop meowing cat. She nuzzles up against my leg and follows me into the bathroom as I take a quick shower. I then brush my teeth and throw on the outfit I chose the night before. I grab my briefcase and take my pills before heading out for my daily cappuccino. I walk down the sidewalk with my steaming coffee warming my hand as I look at all the orange leaves drifting down from the colorful trees. The warm and slightly sweet cappuccino warmed my throat as summer slowly started changing to fall. Leaves crunch under my feet as I walk down a series of blocks before arriving at a destination that sends shivers down my spine. Grass Valley High School. I spent four years there and left with three important things to remember. Kids are mean, don’t go in the halls alone, and if you eat in the cafeteria, watch your back at all times. During my four years of high school I maintained a 3.98 GPA by just getting one B. I also had my head shoved in a toilet, gravy and pudding poured on my head, and was humiliated in front of the 2,000 kids at my school. I walk into the school bright and early at 7:30 am and as soon as I step inside, the smell of bleach and sweaty kids hit my nose. It was so early and school still didn’t start for another hour but I could already smell the insults and back stabby comments said in the halls. I walked into my class and started getting set up for the day. Pulling papers out of my briefcase and writing the agenda on the whiteboard. I pulled out my shiny revolver and polish it, scrubbing it until it gleamed in the dreary depressing white lights of the classroom. After putting away the shiny killing machine into the inside pocket of my navy blazer I laid back in my chair to wait for kids to start entering my class. By 8:30 my class was full of kids chattering among themselves and when the bell rang at 8:35 I raised my voice and said
“Welcome back to school kids, I’m your teacher Mr. Smith and I will be teaching you world history for the next three months.” Kids smiled and nodded their heads still in their summer trance and warm weather in mind. After two classes of getting to know each other exercises and learning names, it was break. Still smiling from thinking of the funny and bright-minded students I have the pleasure of working with for months I sauntered into the teacher’s lounge to scrounge around for a muffin. I walked over to the counter and saw a huge array of breakfast treats so I picked out a lemon poppyseed muffin which made my mouth water.
“Well, would you look at that! Mr. Muffin isn’t so much of a muffin anymore now is he?” said a loud cocky and very familiar voice. I slowly turned around just to drop my beautiful muffin before even getting to take a bite. My blood boiled at the sight of his homecoming King winning face and 6’0 chiseled body. Freshman year. I was in the bathroom just doing and minding my own business when Jake Anderson stormed into the bathroom with his two 6’3 brainless followers who were built like bricks. I was the only one in the bathroom and remembered the exact moment when my head hit the unflushed toilet water with no time to react. Still to this day their evil cackles echo in my brain. Jake Anderson was the cause of all the name-calling and humiliation I experienced in high school. He was the reason I was called muffin by the entire school because I weighed 388 pounds as a 5’9 foot tall freshman. After Jake’s constant taunts all through high school, he was the reason I started working out every day and became a personal trainer as a side job as I was in college getting my teaching degree. Jake’s comments were also the reason I pulled out my revolver and ended his life with a BANG.
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