Disclaimer: I don't own 'Beyblade'.
Title: It wasn't me!
Rating: K (PG)
Categories: Humor
Summary: 'It wasn't me!' Tyson has always been accused of being a pig. He accepted it. But when the kitchen is raided, and Tyson is completely innocent—who will believe him?
Pairings: None.
Word Count: 800
Notes: This was an assessment given to my by a teacher in preparation for my national exams. I was limited to 30 minutes (including planning), aiming for 700-800 words, and this is what I came up with.
IT WASN'T ME!
'It wasn't me!' Tyson has always been accused of being a pig. He accepted it. But when the kitchen is raided, and Tyson is completely innocent—who will believe him?
(Tyson-centric)
Flowerperson
© 2006
'It wasn't me!' – Write about someone wrongly suspected or accused of committing a crime. Think about what they have been accused of, how that person would feel and what happens to them. 700-800 words.
I can't believe it.
I can't believe it!
How could they accuse me—Tyson the Noble—of such a thing?
After all the things I've done for them, and this is how they repay me?
I saved the BBA from BEGA, I rescued Hilary too many times to count, and the others owe me for teaching them how to 'blade like a pro. And yet, they must stoop to this level; this suspicious, cold-hearted, evil level.
They called me a pig. Can you believe it? I certainly can't. Well, okay then. I admit it—I do eat a bit more than the average person (why are you laughing?). Fine. I suppose I eat a lot more than the average person. But being the Beyblade World Champion three times in a row can sure give a guy an appetite. I'm a growing man and I need my nutrition in order to get even bigger and stronger.
But so what if I eat a little too much? So what if I have a bottomless stomach? That's quite a skill—do you know any other beyblading and pie-eating champions?
I didn't think so.
Those… those… idiots! Honestly! They have the nerve; the guts; the sheer audacity to accuse me of committing such a crime? I am ashamed of these people. I am disappointed to have them as my friends.
The kitchen has been raided. The fridge, freezer and all the cupboards are empty. There isn't even a crumb left behind. So now I am the culprit. I am the criminal. I am the one that has to pay to buy all the groceries over again. But you know what? I'm not going to! I refuse to have to be punished for a crime I did not commit! Why would I steal from my own kitchen?
Don't bring up that time last week, or the time before that, or the time before… Okay, perhaps that rhetorical question isn't very rhetorical, so I'll just leave it out of my defense case. Yes, a case.
Between you and me, I don't really have an option. I went to my Grandpa and complained about the unfairness of the situation and he suggested a homie-law-court-whatever-else-jumbo-my-crazy-Grandpa-comes-up-with. It's either that or paying and I don't have any money to buy some more groceries—my pockets are absolutely bare. The only thing in my piggy bank is cobwebs. It's not my fault; that chocolate fountain was just screaming to me: 'Buy me… Buy me now!'
I was more than happy to acquiesce to its command, although I kind of used it for 'blading practice the other day and, well… broke it. Now it's a tangled mess of metalwork hiding in my wardrobe. I don't think Hiro has found it yet. At least, I hope not…
He'll kill me, and organize a whole month of grueling fitness. He says that I eat far too unhealthily and warns me that if I binge out, I'm gonna be paying for every morsel with press-ups.
By the way, I really, really hate press-ups.
I got five minutes, and I still don't have a good defense. I got Hilary up against me (she is the one accusing me of eating all that food, and she's moaning about it because the other guys are coming back to Tokyo tomorrow) and we all know she's gonna be some super-smart lawyer when she's older. I wanted Chief to be on my side, but he says that he wants to remain unbiased. However, he did say that the chances of me being the one that ate that food were ninety-nine percent.
Gee. Thanks a lot, Chief.
Right, it's time for me to go in. What do I say? What do I do? I'm tempted just to make a break for it, but I'll have to come home eventually. That, or Jin of the Gale will come and drag me back to the dojo for a month of the dreaded exercise.
But it's okay. Grandpa will be on my side—we're family after all. He'll support me, because we have always been 'tight'.
Yeah, it will be cool. No worries.
Ten minutes later…
"Guilty!"
"What!"
"I hereby sentence you, dawg, to pay for all the food you gobbled down your greasy pie-hole and two whole months of training with me and your bro to get rid of all the fat you've gained with your binge, you hear?"
"But it wasn't me!"
"Too late, homie. Now… where's that li'l' firecracker Daichi?"
Meanwhile, at the local orphanage…
"Wow, you sure brought a huge amount of food! Did you really buy all this? Thank you, we appreciate it very much."
The real culprit—a young boy with bright red hair, shining emerald eyes and a strange mark on his forehead—grinned toothily. "No problem!"