The ticking of the clock is more apparent to me than Mr. Rogers rambling on whatever topic our history class is learning about today. I stare out the window at a perfectly mowed lacrosse field wondering what the hell I was doing here in the first place? My mother had died when I was young, barely 2 years old. From then on my father took care of me by himself working as a manager of a team in a well known financial Institute pulling in just over six figures a year, allowing us to live in one of the most wealthy towns on the east coast. However it wasn't exactly luxury living, while the other students in my high school lived in 6 million dollar mansions I was in a two bedroom apartment with my dad. While he did make enough money to support us him being a pot head and an alcoholic at the same time didn't help our situation. He somehow could be completely shit faced by the time I left for school at 7:30 and still keep his job (He works form home so his team doesn't really notice). I can't tell you how many times I get home from my martial arts lessons to find the cops at our door. He gets drunk and high at the same time and starts doing crazy shit like screaming at random people while doing this strange calisthenics routine where he does backflips and shit. The only reason I'm still able to live in that place is the lock on my door. As I sit and stare out the window completely disinterested my teacher takes notice and calls me out.
"Mr. Williams! Care to join us in the discussion?" he asks with annoyance.
I stare down the 40 year old, balding, tub of lard and respond in my most intimidating tone.
"No."
"Excuse me?" He asks incredulously. "How dare you speak to me that way! I am your teacher!" For some reason I decided to push back. I've had enough of being a goody two shoes for my whole life.
"Yeah, no shit Sherlock. What are you? Retarded?" I say, making the class look at me as if I was insane.
"Get the hell out of my classroom! NOW!" Mr. Rogers screamed at me with a menacing look on his face. The way he was looking I could tell he wished he could give me a good hard smack in the face. Why not give him the opportunity? A devious thought appeared in the back if my mind. As I was just about to walk out I stopped and turned around. I paused before walking slowly towards my teacher.
"I said, GET OUT." he said before turning away.
"Hey, Mr. Rogers did I ever tell you how I hate your stupid, ugly, fucking, face?" I said with a warm smile on my face.
"What did you just say to me?" Mr. Rogers head snapped back towards me quickly just in time for my fist to meet his face.
My fist connected cleanly with his jaw making him reel back in pain, clearly surprised. I grabbed his shirt just as he was about to hit the ground I brought his face close to mine whispered in his ear,
"You're fucked douchebag"
He looked at me with fear in his eyes as I pulled my fist back to punch him in the face again. All the while my classmates finally snap out of their surprise and started screaming. I kept punching Mr. Rogers, my fists hitting him again in the face. The class quieting down as they saw the blood flying through the air increasing. Mr. Rogers body started to convulse and cough blood as he fell unconscious. The class stared at me as I dropped the old mans body with a thud, I looked back at them and they shrunk away in fear. I laughed and walked out of the classroom but as I traversed the empty halls I realized something strange. I was smiling.