I haven't written for quite a while, and since I haven't got any news other than "I'm in school and have no life but homework..." I figured I would post this. It is called Flash Fiction, and yes it was for a class, but it's kind of ... fun. So in class we had to write down a secret on a little piece of paper, mix them up, and each pick one... this would be our prompt for writing. Mine was, "I daydream about my English professor." Awkward!!! Here it is... :)
Drift of Thought
Chatter and laughter die as the door swings open and the smell of fried okra and fabric softener precedes "Old Battle-axe" McCabe into the classroom. The students immediately take on a pose of withered submission; if they don't it's so long to their GPAs. they're all silently cursing the drop deadline that passed a week ago. if only they had known that the quirky teacher they had the first few weeks of the semester would turn into this; terrifying glare, clunky geriatric shoes, bunchy nylons visible under the polyester high-waters and a bulky sweater that looked like it was made by a one armed blind man.
"Perkins! I need your response to Thoreau. Do you have it? No? That's marked." Freshmen! It's time they learn this isn't high school and I'm not their babysitter.
Perkins meanwhile has slouched so far down in his chair that his head and shoulders are barely visible to the other students who might dare to glance his way. A thought passes through the room, though no one knows the others are thinking the same thing; something has to be done!
-If we go to the administration and complain it won't do any good; it is McCabe College after all.
-Maybe an F wouldn't be so bad. Mom would kill me if I got anything less than a C though.
-Accidents happen all the time, right? Especially this time of year. It's supposed to snow two feet this weekend. Makes for dangerous traveling conditions. I wonder if she lives over Gunther Bridge. It would be too bad if someone were to cause a slide off. Frozen water swirling. No air.
As the students file out of class after an hour and a half of torturous "learning" and another five page paper assignment, all thoughts of "Old Battle-axe" blow away with the freezing wind, except one.
~
Two days later the classroom is full once again, despite the snowstorm threatening to blow through. Ames and Perkins have disappeared into their desks as their marks have been announced to the class and most everyone else has turned their thoughts to other classes or the weather.
-I bet the South Stairs will be pure ice in a storm like this. She's just the type that would think she could handle them no matter what. Let's see how she does with a little help. 76 icy stairs. Every bone broken. No way could she survive. I can "help" her just like I "helped" that yappy little dog next door, right into Clayser Canyon. Stupid thing shouldn't have bitten me.
Through the high windows, brave wondering eyes catch glimpses of the freezing rain outside and watch as it turns heavier, into large white snowflakes. The menacing clouds are turning the day dark. Through the glow from the light posts they can see the snow as it starts flying sideways.
-This'll be a cinch. I'll just follow her. No one will see in this weather; no one will care.
As the students leave with a reading and response assignment that will take all weekend, no one notices the boy hanging back, taking his time with his parka and gloves. "Old Battle-axe" McCabe ignores him as she leaves the classroom and walks into the storm.
-It's lucky this parka will blend right in with the storm. She doesn't have any idea what's coming. Probably thinks she's got us all scared enough by now. I swear, she does this on purpose; the pretty, quirky teacher for the first few weeks, until the drop deadline is past, then Wicked Witch of the West when it's too late for anyone to leave. Wait. Where'd she... oh, okay, there she is. Almost to the stairs, and no one in sight.
"Professor McCabe? Would you like some help?"
"Who is that? Perkins? I'm fine on my own."
-Sure you are. Those stairs are nice and slick by now. Just a little shove to the back, trip up her feet and... Crash, bang, boom. 76 stairs to the bottom. Who's down there? Well, if I can't see them, they can't see me. Problem solved.
~
"Did you hear about Professor McCabe?"
"She's in the hospital. Someone found her at the bottom of South Stairs Friday afternoon, she'd fallen."
"Is she going to be alright?"
"They say she will, once she regains consciousness."
-Crap!
"They say she'll be back. Maybe a few weeks."
-Stairs! What was I thinking? I should've gone with the bridge. Or maybe I could have gone to her house, knocked her out when she got there, shut the garage and left the car running. No guarantee on that one though.
"Good afternoon class. I'm Detective Howell. You'll be glad to hear your professor regained consciousness just a while ago and is on the mend. I need to speak with a couple of you outside for a minute. Tyler Ames and Grayson Perkins."
-Crap!
~
-How did I get here? I'm not a murderer, whatever they say, I'm not. Stupid Ames. What a snitch. What was he doing at the bottom of the stairs? Thanks to him she didn't die. Attempted murder. Problem not solved.
The constant sound of grinding metal bars, buzzing as doors are opened and closed fills the corridors. The scratchy orange jumpsuit is uncomfortable and the lumpy mattress is worse than the one he had had in the dorm.
-I guess my GPA isn't really a problem anymore. To think, a few weeks ago that was all I was worried about. It was all I should have worried about anyway. Too bad I didn't plan it out better; I wouldn't have ended up in here. Maybe I could have... Wait. This is exactly what got me in here in the first place. Isn't recognizing the problem the first step? This is good. She's not my problem anymore. No more McCabe. I wonder if Ames lives over Gunther Bridge.

:) Hope you enjoyed... :)