make-overIt was the day before summer vacation. Sticky sweat stuck my legs to my seat. The heat was miserable, it made my bra itchy and my pants damp. A bead of sweat dripped down my forehead, I whipped it off embarrassed, disguising the motion by adjusting my glasses at the same time.My teacher leaned languidly against the board, watching as the control which she had fought for all year rapidly dissolve. Occasionally she would laugh at the antics of her charges, yell at them to keep it down and sometimes even answer a history question.A note plopped on my desk. I glanced at the board out of habit before realizing that the teacher didnt care what we did now, as long as the cops never found out. I unfolded the note carefully, trying unsuccessfully to memorize the folds to the paper football. In neat curly lettering the message so are you going to tell him? blared at me in pink pen. The pen that wrote it soon hit my head and fell to the floor. I fished around benea
untitledAT the church HE grumbled, I dont understand this, to me death is nothing more then the STopping of a heart.