Of Revenge for the sake of Revenge

April 12th, 2005


After a relaxing and ultimately dreamless sleep, I found myself engaging in a tug-of-war with Adrian, my friend whom I think must be the founder of What-an-idiot-is series of books. A clash of opinions ensued in the foreground while wits battled at the back. Suddenly a flash of bright light and a slash of red ink appeared on my arm. He waved the offending pen at me and smirked, with a hint of yaya-ness shadowing his eyes. I stared at him and slowly took out my OHP marker. Bright purple. Thick nib. Smudge-able. PERMANANT.

He saw the dangerous glint in my eyes and backed away slowly. Unfortunately, the seats in the lecture hall refrained him from moving any further than half an inch or so. The lecturer's voice droned on in the background while I uncapped my marker, relishing the feel of the pen like how a psychologically-insane serial killer looks at his knife before carrying out the fatal stab.

Flexing my muscles, I leaned towards him and acting all coy, took his to-be-handed-in-today-at-2pm-coz-already-late essay and pretended to ponder over it. Beads of sweat popped out on his forehead as he imagined writing another essay in 2 hours. I hovered my OHP marker over the piece of paper and smiled angelically at him. Hand lowering. Face determined.

He was anxious. Desperate. Put his hand over his face so that he wouldn't see the result. Putting out the other hand to grab the essay back. With his eyes covered. With him sitting half an inch away. With the lecturer talking about Cartesian equations.

The sound of tearing paper was heard. At the exact moment the lecturer stopped to take a breather. Everyone in the lecture hall turned to see what was going on, some at the back even standing up to get a better look. Eyes wide, I looked at him with shock. He looked back with resignation and accusation. I decided to treat resignation as his facial expression so I wouldn't feel all that guilty about it. Seconds later, the look of resignation developed into full-fledged accusation. I sighed.

*tap tap tap* Fingers furiously clicking away, I sat hunched over the school's old and battered computer. Looking up at the clock, I saw that the deadline was only 15 minutes away.
Breathing faster.
Fingers flying over the keyboard.
Eyes blurring.

After printing that better-written-since-I-edited-for-him essay, legs pumping as fast as they would go, I ran to the tutor's office. Only to see him standing outside the office door, rejecting essays from other people, who are pleading for a redress. I looked at my watch. 2.03pm.

I could almost hear the sound of my bones breaking. Almost feel the sensation of being battered like the school's computer. Almost listen to the rantings of Adrian.

I'm dead...


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