anonymousss

I arch my back. Shoulder girdle muscles slide over their complementary joints; bony projections connect with white wall. The heels of my feet rub themselves raw against the barricade separating me from my enemy as my stringy-haired head kisses the corner. Greasy sweat tumbles down and around the decaying concrete. My eyes roll around in their sockets, seeing, searching…there! There she is…

Blonde and blue-eyed. Sunday dress, she waves to the heavens. Gloria, hallelujah as her flaxen twine sways to and fro. New hair. Short hair, silky.

Oh hay Alice din’t see you there you like my new haircut it’s short now an’ so’s soft ah know it’s gorgeous ah call it Katie-doo you shood get a new haircut too actually you shood get a new ever’ thing ah mean look at that ugly pony hair an’ those humongous glasses oh gawd heya Ashley come a look at ugly girl’s glasses those are like for guys hahaha…

She would have made a fine Nazi. Amen. But her time will come. She has not an idea who or what I am—Super Spy Agent Assassin Spy Alice.

My slick skills and super-human senses will bring about her downfall, her ultimate demise. Her blood-shot eyes will be reduced to an eyeball white. Her flaming nostrils will flame no more and her chicken-like ribs will collapse into a heap of dried bones, for which will serve as my supply of Thanksgiving wishbones. Stupid meanie.

From across the street, I see her spinning about, a blur of white, reds, and round roses. My breath steams up the clear glass, the sallow skinned reflection obscure. The spinning stops. Her eyes peruse the small peach house, a partly fogged window, a pallid Picasso of nose, ears, mouth. I fall to my knees a moment too late, off-guard and off-balance. Giggling across the way. Twitter, twitter.

I crawl toward the kitchen, my limp clothes sweeping the dust bunnies from beneath the dining table, when—yes. Mouth open, eyes widened yes. An ingenious idea, fool-proof! Her ignorance and stupidity shall be known forthwith. A plan just for Katie, oh, it shall be a rousing success on every level. Yes, success…but to first obtain the secret code.

I sliiiide across the dining room, up the stairs, and into my laboratory. After seconds upon seconds of meticulous research, I emerge, secret code in hand, printed neatly upon a torn bit of paper. I leap down the stairs, posing beautifully in mid-air, hand/gun aiming toward the wooden floor, and fall down, landing perfectly. I re-think my well-constructed plan, reading, re-reading my secret code. I’m ready. The paper is ripped to shreds—nobody must discover it—and head toward the kitchen phone. Breathing, sighing, I dial with careful precision.

* * *
Zero-seven-hundred hours. I blink my sand-crusted eyes open to a fresh, new day, tangling myself in my hot pink, Minnie Mouse bed sheets.

Zero-seven-hundred hours. I blink my sand-crusted eyes open to a fresh, new day, gloriously tossing away my night-black bed sheets, its silky material gliding off and over my limbs, floating in mid-air while my awe-inspiring presence causes tiny ripples in the dark material, the fine silver lining revealing every heavenly curve to my athletic body.

My eyes water as I release a sleepy yawn—when I remember my wrongdoing the day before. Ah, yes. I smile with such satisfaction and allow myself an evil, mad-man-like guffaw, my mwa-ha-ha’s bouncing off the walls. Success is ever so sweet. Then the normal preparations: comb hair, fix bed, brush teeth, pack. Wonderful day, and I strut out the door toward Crest Valley Elementary.
Five minutes before the start of school and already Katie and her flock of fiends are hounding the class doorway. Today, I will not be late.

Walking toward them, heart rate increasing, shifting my weight, quickening my pace, walking toward them, I stop in front of the human door stop. She’s surrounded by her usual group of friends: Ashley, Alex, Timothy Farrell. Timothy Farrell. Tim Farrell. Alice Farrell. Alice Marie Farrell. God, I hate him.

Who is Katie? No one. I attempt a pass through the doorway. Katie moves in response.

“Hay Aaalice. What’re you doin’?”

I do little to prevent an inevitable grin. “Going to class obviously.” Obviously! Dimples deepen and my lips stretch as I relish my cunning remark. My smile however, vanishes, after Katie’s next know-it-all words.

“Why’d you do that?” She flashes a braced set of mirrored enamel—white little sugar cubes jailed in metal embrace. Her friends snigger.

“Do…what? Do what?” She knows not of my evil plan to destroy her. She could not have possibly discovered my true identity.

“Why’d you leave that message?”

“Message?” So many needles in my chest; I can’t breathe or swallow. Am I fainting? Won’t that hurt? How could she pinpoint me? My plan was flawless.

Katie’s golden hair tickles her baby fat-filled face. Timothy raises an eyebrow, a dirt-encrusted, shaggy mud-brown mat stapled to his cute, little bridge of a forehead. They continue sniggering, but Katie holds up her hand.

“Why did you leave that message on my answ’rin’ machine of ‘Mary had a Little Lamb?”

Tears slight the tip of my lashes. How? I had dialed her number, left the perfectly synchronized song on her answering machine, and hung up the phone. Where did I go wrong?

Empty seats are visible through the blockade of limbs.

“What’re you doin’?”

“Ah, you know. Ah, going to seat, going to class in my seat.” I can’t believe I forgot to tie my shoes this morning and power-walk to the floor bathroom. Little giggles resonate throughout the hallways, passersby pointing at my shrunken stomach, my rosy cheeks. I’m late again.

With the final Cathedral-like bell of the day tolling in my ears, I half-run, half-walk home. Maybe she’s a super spy, too. Maybe that’s how she’d discovered it had been me. That’s not fair. No fair! But I won’t give up, no. I can’t allow her the pleasure of mocking me once more. She doesn’t know who I am!

I’ll re-try my prank call. She wouldn’t expect me to do it again. Only this time, I’ll be stealthier, cleverer—superer-agent-assassin-spy-agent-like.

It’s obvious that the phone scans for fingerprints, so I carefully wrap my palms and fingers in special, quilted toilet paper. Inhaling, exhaling, secret code in hand, I dial.

aprilrain

An enjoyable read. I was smiling throughout the whole thing. The beginning paragraph made me think that I was about to read a serious, suspenseful piece, but it became apparent through indirect clues that the main character was an imaginative youngster. I don't think you even needed to make reference to the name of the school--it was apparent by then to an astute reader.

I liked the way you showed the girl's imagination by describing her first waking up, then retelling it as if she were a grown-up, mysterious spy. Caught me off guard at first, but it quickly became clear what you were doing.

Some things I loved:

Quote:

She would have made a fine Nazi.

Quote:

After seconds upon seconds of meticulous research,

Quote:

Katie and her flock of fiends

Quote:

She’s surrounded by her usual group of friends: Ashley, Alex, Timothy Farrell. Timothy Farrell. Tim Farrell. Alice Farrell. Alice Marie Farrell. God, I hate him.

Great lines!!

Two, very small things: change "hay" to "hey."
And this line bugged me, because she has a crush on this boy, but this description of him is repulsive.

Quote:

Timothy raises an eyebrow, a dirt-encrusted, shaggy mud-brown mat stapled to his cute, little bridge of a forehead.

Thanks for the laughs. Look forward to others.

anonymousss

I really appreciate your feedback and I do agree on perhaps some changing. 'Hay' was a bit unnecessary and I kind of felt as you did with the description of Timothy, but was unsure, so I'm glad I had someone else telling me that as well--don't really need that bit of description anyway. Thanks again!