Susan Spelling B

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Written by L.kenyon
Tuesday, 27 February 2007

Last Updated ( Friday, 09 March 2007 )

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I hate Susan B. Spelling. I hate her. I hate the way she emphasizes her middle initial too: capital B period; let me tell you something, B stands for bitch.
So self-important, so untouchable: Susan.

I hate her stupid popular friends too and the way they all strut around the school together like they fucking own the place. I hate the way they laugh. But mostly, I just hate her.

Forty-five minutes a day I'm stuck in the same room with her - as if English didn't suck enough. She sits right dead center up in the front row too, so no matter where I look I see her - her stupid, wavy, blond hair - her stupid voice - her stupid, perfect smile – and her stupid pretty eyes. I hate her.
In the springtime her dresses remind me of my grandmother's flowered wallpaper - her house always smelt like moth balls and licorice and I hated that too.
So self-righteous, not a care in the world: Susan.

And in the winter her sweaters cling to those "please look but don't stare at me" big tits, and if you’re “lucky” , just lucky enough to get close to her, you can smell that waxy mint lip gloss she always wears - that shit makes me want to puke in my mouth.

Straight A's and always eager - hand always raised - always the teacher's pet - every boy’s fantasy: Susan.

I call her house. I'm not stupid about it; I block their caller I.D. and if someone answers I always hang up. Except once when Susan answered but I didn't say anything right away so "miss better things to do" hung up on me.

I see her in the cafeteria at the "look at me table" laughing, I see her in my dreams at the gates of hell, smirking. I've watched her at her field hockey practices - sticks and skirts will break and hurt.

I ride my bike to her house at night.

I hate her perfect family, no unsmiling faces on that mantle and I know because I know the inside of that house very well. I've even been in her room. I know her stupid secrets. I know her stupid dreams. I hate her.

I hate the way she floats like an angel down the hallways to be adored and cooed at by everyone.

I hate the way I love her.

But when attendance is called today, there will be no punctual Susan to smugly answer, "present". No more perfectly postured A-list flower to sit crossed-legged, twirling her hair and tapping her pencil on the side of her desk; I made sure of that. I put a stop to it. I've done the world a favor; she would’ve never had to work for anything in her whole life; getting by on just her pretty smile. The world was hers to walk on and over and there would never have been a reason for her to be decent or caring or sweet; her world was going to be fucking bullshit - But not now, I made sure of that; I put a stop to it.

It wasn't hard to do or particularly messy. In the end, it was too bad for her that her parents can actually afford seclusion; I didn't need to worry about being seen.
She won't be found. I was careful.

And then of course there’s Peter Buckwald, Susan's boyfriend. I almost forgot about him; ass kissing, jock douche-bag – “Mr. Anderson this and Mr. Anderson that”. Won't he be so heart broken when Susan turns up missing? I bet you his little blue baseball hat will fall right off – fucking pussy - I hate him too, but I know where he sleeps, and which window is his.

Although, things just might be looking up after all; at least I will never have to call on perfect Susan B. Spelling in my classroom ever again.

© 2006 L.kenyon

Copyright 2007 L.kenyon

Published in Horror

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Comments (8)

Posted by Young81k
02-28-2007 08:55,

wow...
so it was her teacher all along...

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Posted by Michelle
08-15-2007 22:44,

Wonderful...
It was the teacher?? I thought it was a psychotic classmate or something... :)

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Posted by Robert Quintin Penn
08-19-2007 12:13,

...
Wow! This sounds just like me.

But the teacher? Oh, that was brilliant!

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Posted by Elephant
09-11-2007 13:12,

You know...
at first, when it was mentioned the narrator knew this "perfect girl's" house in detail as well as her secrets and dreams I thought that this "perfect girl" WAS the narrator and wanted to commit suicide (that would of been a "sweet" twist, don't ya' think?... heh)... But then, the real malefactor was revealed. And now that I think of it, there are a few lines before the last one that hint on who the narrator is. Way to keep us guessing, though! Woot woot!

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