Title: Internal Battle: Part One
Author: Georgia M. (katiesmeghead)
Synopsis: I torture myself as homework destroys yet another precious weekend…
Special Note: Just in case you get confused Bold Italics are my subconscious, Normal Italics are my brain. Also, I'd like to give an ENORMOUS thank you to winged-monkey, my wonderful new beta. Everyone go check out her stories! : D
Disclaimer: I do NOT own the Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles, nor do I receive any form of payment or anything advantageous from writing this story, it's purely for my own fun… how sad huh? So please don't sue me you wonderful people who own and designed these characters!
Internal Battle: Part One
"Another essay! Are you serious?" My teacher, Mr. Fisher, sends me a cold glare. Sad old trout never liked me anyways.
"Yes Miss Michael, an essay. Do try to keep your childish outbursts to yourself." Grumpily I slouch back into my chair, ignoring the wretched toad's endless babbling. Great! There goes another weekend of my life! Sour, lonely old dic-
"MISS MICHAEL!" I startle, nearly leaping right out of my chair. Mister Fisher is staring at me expectantly and I realize that once again I have drifted into my own thoughts and now I'm left feeling foolish.
"Uhh… Ninja Turtles?" I venture hopefully. Mr. Fisher raises a brow.
Ninja Turtles?! My brain screams at me, Are you serious, what were you thinking you crazy freak!
"Really? You intend to write a five-page essay on these 'Ninja Turtles'? Well, I very much look forward to your report." He sneers sarcastically at me and I feel my blood boil in frustration at him, even as I turn white as a sheet.
Brain, what have we gotten ourselves into? We?! We! This was all your fault! Ninja Turtles? When is that EVER the answer to ANYTHING, EVER?!
With a quiet groan I let my head flop onto the table, just knowing that this is going to be a very long weekend…
Procrastination. It's a funny thing. Because no matter how much you dread doing something, it still feels worse knowing you're purposefully not doing it. And right now is really the biggest example of that I've ever heard of.
I'm sitting here, at my desk, staring at a blank pad of paper and no matter how hard I try I just can't force my pencil to move. I've tried to distract myself, and wait for inspiration to strike. I watched old Ninja Turtles episodes, made lunch for me and my little brother, sang (badly) along with the radio, and even walked my neighbour's dog, Chunky. But still no ideas! No sudden bolt of lightning striking my struggling brain. Isn't this a fan fiction? It should be easy… oh, yeah, I've got the psycho author. Goodie!
Smacking my head repeatedly against the hard glossy wood of my desk I implore desperately to my brain. C'mon, we're a team! You do the smart stuff, I… what do I do? Ah that's not the point. Please Brain, gimme some help. Why the heck should I?! You messed it up, YOU figure it out! Geez, who knew brains could be so tetchy?
Finally I decide it's not gonna happen and picking up the pad I wander out into the streets of New York. Perhaps the hustle and energy of the city will dissolve my writers block.
I chuckle to myself as I add in my head: And if I get really lucky I just might see a giant turtle hiding in an alley!
I've always been a very lucky girl. I was born with my placenta wrapped around my neck and nearly died from suffocation. When I was 14 my dad walked out on my little brother and me after he beat my mother to death. And now, two years later, I get to run from a load of low life perverts who are determined to chase me right across New York.
I sprint around a corner and try to ignore the heavy rain starting to beat down and the rumbling thunder. Johnny's at home on his own and these guys clearly don't want to just introduce themselves and shuffle off shyly.
I feel a knot of dread as I smash into a chain-link fence. End of the line. Whipping my head around I see the guys charging up the alleys. My feet scramble up the fence but I can't get over! This is it.
Brain, I know you and I have had our disagreements, but PLEASE, if you have a plan this would be the perfect time to put aside our differences and save our butts! Uhh… Um… I CAN'T THINK OF ANYTHING! So we're screwed? Uh-huh.
I screw my eyes up tight and pray to all the gods I don't believe in that they'll spare me. Smack! I feel a hard fist strike me in the face and I tumble to the grim covered ground. Groaning I change my mind and curse all those gods. If I'm going down then I'm doing it properly.
But the next blow never comes. That's not right… Hey, don't argue with it. We're safe! Yippeeeeee!! While my Brain performs a victory dance, I peek up through my lashes and gasp sharply. It's them! The Turtles. The disgusting perverts who tried to get me are already down and have obviously taken one heck of a beating. I see one of the turtles coming over to me and tremble involuntarily; from both fear and excitement. He helps me up and I smile gratefully. Hey Brain? Yeah? What are you supposed to say when you meet a giant mutated supposedly fictional turtle? Somehow my Brain shrugs. I'll work that one out later.
"Thanks." I mutter lamely
"Not a problem, it's just nice that you're not freaking out. Besides, we're here to help."
Do you think we should… Way ahead of ya!
"Could I ask you guys a few questions?" I ask, with a sweet smile. The Turtles share confused looks but agree and I grin from ear to ear.
Like I said, I'm lucky.
"So, in conclusion, the Ninja Turtles are heroes. I'm sure I'm not the only one who owes my life to them and if I could I would find a way to help them to be accepted in New York. Until then I'll continue to support them through fan fiction, and watching their many adventures. It may sound insane, it may seem impossible, but I promise you it is true. They are the Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles – Heroes on the half shell." Turtle Power! Grow up. I smile privately. Those two will never stop arguing but at least it's just friendly teasing now. Finally I turn to a clearly flabbergasted Mr. Fisher.
"Well, what do you think sir?" I emphasize the last word sarcastically, knowing it will grind on the bitter teacher's nerves. Why must you do that? Brain asks. Cause I can. My subconscious replies with a shrug. Wait… how do they keep doing that?!
"Return to your seat Miss Michael." Says Mr. Fisher quietly. Surprising both my Brain and Subconscious into silence, I do just as he says, as secret, smug grin plastered over my face.
Victory! We won, we won, we won! In your face smelly old Fisher! Oh great, now she'll never shut up!
END