Stories Inspired by Songs
Book by: MissWordsmith
1. Revenge and Homewreckers
That little, sneaky, homewrecking bitch! I screamed, evil-eying the theif's long, blonde hair, twisted into loose curls, as she sat two rows up, purposely playing with my ex's fingers underneath their two, close desks. Right in front of me.
Jessica, my bestie, and the only reason I wasn't in an asylum, leaned over after one glance at my line of sight. "What a whore," she whispered. "And a bitch. She's purposely doing that."
I gripped my pencil so tight that I heard the tell-tale snaps of wood - it took a Herculean effort to press down my irate anger, fearing the loss of my last, and only, pencil. Get yourself together, Maxine. Don't let such scum get under your skin.
Still, it was hard. Perhaps too hard. Trying to take my mind off the topic, I returned to the irritating screech of Miss Salt and her insecure mumbles about English and her dirty washing. "...children, dears," she crooned, picking up a book on the history of English and pushing a thin, stick-like thumb deep into Volume Two, before rewriting a specific paragraph on the black board with a segment of broken chalk that was thicker than her boney arm, "We all know about love, don't we?"
I winced at both the word - love, a dark beauty, dangerous like a viper - and her nails-on-a-blackboard - which I'd regrettably experienced - voice when she said it.
I couldn't help it, the very word forcing me to glance at their hands - a feminine index finger raised high, alone, in impertinent salute.
"She's flipping me off," I whispered angrily, Jessica clearly hearing.
The light, girlish giggle of said female - no, no, this was no female. This was a gorgon, a Medusa, some horrible creature who couldn't keep her grubby hands off MY BOYFRIEND!
"She's getting under your skin," Jessica warned.
"Miss Salt," I heard the Gorgon ask, "Why don't you ask Maxine?" The way she said it was clearly mocking.
"Good idea, Lyla." Her beady, green eyes bored into mine. "Quote Shakespear, please."
I racked my brains, the spotlight not suiting me, that repulsive homewrecker smirking at me as she twisted around, laughing in her eyes. I met her squarely, one line popping out, straight from Macbeth. "Let grief," I announced, loudly and confidently, "convert to anger; blunt not the heart, enrage it."
The English teacher's pencilled eyebrows rose. "Interesting choice. Can you name where it is from?"
I smiled coldly at The Monster, answering, "Macbeth, Malcom to Macduff, Miss."
I heard a short, pleased applause, followed by the flash of a glare in her eyes, before she twisted back around to the front. Ha. That's right, you slimy whore. And there's more where that come from! I added inwardly, leaning over to Jessica.
I glanced at her once more, a devilish plan coming to mind. "I think I'll need your help..."
(To be continued...)
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