PAINFUL CRITIQUE
Christian James sat up straight in his desk in his 12th grade English class as his teacher, Mrs. Morrow, was passing back the papers the class had turned in last week.
Suddenly, Mrs. Morrow stepped beside Christian's desk and beamed down at him.
"This," Mrs. Morrow breathed, indicating a paper she held in her hands, "is the best piece of writing I have ever seen in my entire career. I can now die happy. Let's all applaud for Mr. James."
Christian's cheeks flushed red as the whole class began to clap enthusiastically, patting him on the back and smiling at him. Christian smiled modestly and stood up to take a bow.
"SIT DOWN, MR. JAMES!" A shrill, sharp voice shouted at him. Mrs. Morrow stood a few desks away from him, a fierce look on her old, wrinkly face.
Christian sheepishly sat down, realizing that he had daydreamed the whole thing. She hadn't even gotten to his desk to hand him the paper yet. But, this didn't faze him. He knew his moment in the sun would come soon.
Christian was especially excited about getting his paper back because he knew his true calling was to become a famous writer, and he couldn't wait for Mrs. Morrow to hand him his wonderful paper with a giant A+ written across it and a gold star smoothed down in the corner. He couldn't wait for her to boast to the whole class how excellent his writing was.
Suddenly, Mrs. Morrow was beside Christian's desk, his paper in her bony hand. Christian grinned, his eyes growing wide and eager, like a dog waiting to be given a Milkbone.
"This," Mrs. Morrow said, just the way she had in his daydream, "is a piece of crap."
The words hadn't fully sunk in right away, as Christian continued to smile up at Mrs. Morrow for a few moments afterward, not understanding what had just been said.
"W-what?" Christian gasped.
"This is the worst paper that has ever been turned into me. It's students like you that make me want to die before my time." Mrs. Morrow hissed, her snake-like eyes narrowing down on a horrified Christian.
"There must be some mistake . . ." Christian insisted.
"The only mistake that has happened here is that I actually took the time to read this worthless crud." Mrs. Morrow snarled nastily, tossing the paper on Christian's desk before she continued her task of passing back papers. Christian gasped in terror as he saw the huge, red F scrawled across the top of his paper.
"This can't be right! I'm going to be a famous writer! Famous writers don't get F's on their English papers!" Christian thought aloud. "I'm going to have a little chat with Mrs. Morrow about this."
Christian looked up and scanned the room to find that Mrs. Morrow had just plopped down into her chair behind her desk. Perfect timing to go and straighten things out with her.
"Mrs. Morrow," Christian called, approaching her desk. "Mrs. Morrow, something's terribly wrong here. I couldn't have gotten an F on my paper."
"Well, that's what you got. An F!" Mrs. Morrow shot back.
"Perhaps if you looked over it again . . ."
"That paper deserves an F and that's the end of it!"
"Please, Mrs. Morrow -"
"MR. JAMES! SIT DOWN BEFORE I PADDLE YOU!!!"
Christian gulped loudly, fearing Mrs. Morrow's strong smack of the paddle on his ultra-sensitive bottom, and slinked back to his seat.
This was terrible. Christian bit at his nails nervously, picturing his father laughing in his face saying, "See son, I told you so!" with an oh-so satisfied look on his face. He'd never take him as a serious writer after this! Drastic measures had to be taken.
Christian headed towards Mrs. Morrow's desk again. He leaned against the desk and began to whistle. Mrs. Morrow cursed under her breath and slowly looked up to meet Christian's gaze. She glared at him in an intimidating manner from above her thick, magnifying-like glasses.
"Yes?" Mrs. Morrow demanded impatiently.
"Mrs. Morrow, about that paper . . ."
Mrs. Morrow shook her head and sighed loudly.
"Now listen, I think we could make some kind of deal here," Christian proposed. He reached into his pocket and slyly showed Mrs. Morrow his hidden stash of bills.
Mrs. Morrow tutted. "Mr. James, I will not accept your money in exchange for a better grade," she said, crossing her arms disapprovingly.
"Why not?!" Christian whined.
"Mr. James, keep your voice down -"
"WHY CAN'T I PAY YOU LIKE EVERYONE ELSE DOES?!?!" Christian screamed with a crazed look in his eye.
Some of the boys in the class noticed the commotion.
"Want me to beat him up, Mrs. M?" asked a big, macho guy.
"Do SOMETHING; he's gone mad!"
"C'mon boys!" said the macho guy to his macho friends. They all cracked their knuckles and began to beat down the deranged boy.
"OWWW! STOP IT!" Christian cried under the fury of fists.
"Alright, alright. Let him go now, boys." Mrs. Morrow intervened.
"Oh, we'll let him go alright." The big guys carried Christian to the window and tossed him out, letting him fall down the 3 stories to the ground below. After a moment, Christian rolled over and groaned as pain seared all through his body.
"Don't blame Mrs. M if your writing sucks!" One of them yelled down to Christian.
"I'll have you know," Christian protested, "that I will one day become a world famous writer! You'll be paying to see my plays and read my books."
Everyone from the class laughed at him.
"I'll show you!" he cried. "I'll show you all!"
So the broken-up, bloody boy staggered home and announced to his family that he would be leaving for Paris to pursue his career as a professional writer . . . but not before he took his paper and ever so carefully changed the F to look more like a B . . . and then he added a plus, just to make himself look a little better.
He received his expected response from his conservative father, but he didn't care. He was off to Paris to become a writer and show the world just how wonderful of a writer he could be.
A/N: Don't know what the point of that was. Oh well! Thanks for reading, please review! :o)
Christian James sat up straight in his desk in his 12th grade English class as his teacher, Mrs. Morrow, was passing back the papers the class had turned in last week.
Suddenly, Mrs. Morrow stepped beside Christian's desk and beamed down at him.
"This," Mrs. Morrow breathed, indicating a paper she held in her hands, "is the best piece of writing I have ever seen in my entire career. I can now die happy. Let's all applaud for Mr. James."
Christian's cheeks flushed red as the whole class began to clap enthusiastically, patting him on the back and smiling at him. Christian smiled modestly and stood up to take a bow.
"SIT DOWN, MR. JAMES!" A shrill, sharp voice shouted at him. Mrs. Morrow stood a few desks away from him, a fierce look on her old, wrinkly face.
Christian sheepishly sat down, realizing that he had daydreamed the whole thing. She hadn't even gotten to his desk to hand him the paper yet. But, this didn't faze him. He knew his moment in the sun would come soon.
Christian was especially excited about getting his paper back because he knew his true calling was to become a famous writer, and he couldn't wait for Mrs. Morrow to hand him his wonderful paper with a giant A+ written across it and a gold star smoothed down in the corner. He couldn't wait for her to boast to the whole class how excellent his writing was.
Suddenly, Mrs. Morrow was beside Christian's desk, his paper in her bony hand. Christian grinned, his eyes growing wide and eager, like a dog waiting to be given a Milkbone.
"This," Mrs. Morrow said, just the way she had in his daydream, "is a piece of crap."
The words hadn't fully sunk in right away, as Christian continued to smile up at Mrs. Morrow for a few moments afterward, not understanding what had just been said.
"W-what?" Christian gasped.
"This is the worst paper that has ever been turned into me. It's students like you that make me want to die before my time." Mrs. Morrow hissed, her snake-like eyes narrowing down on a horrified Christian.
"There must be some mistake . . ." Christian insisted.
"The only mistake that has happened here is that I actually took the time to read this worthless crud." Mrs. Morrow snarled nastily, tossing the paper on Christian's desk before she continued her task of passing back papers. Christian gasped in terror as he saw the huge, red F scrawled across the top of his paper.
"This can't be right! I'm going to be a famous writer! Famous writers don't get F's on their English papers!" Christian thought aloud. "I'm going to have a little chat with Mrs. Morrow about this."
Christian looked up and scanned the room to find that Mrs. Morrow had just plopped down into her chair behind her desk. Perfect timing to go and straighten things out with her.
"Mrs. Morrow," Christian called, approaching her desk. "Mrs. Morrow, something's terribly wrong here. I couldn't have gotten an F on my paper."
"Well, that's what you got. An F!" Mrs. Morrow shot back.
"Perhaps if you looked over it again . . ."
"That paper deserves an F and that's the end of it!"
"Please, Mrs. Morrow -"
"MR. JAMES! SIT DOWN BEFORE I PADDLE YOU!!!"
Christian gulped loudly, fearing Mrs. Morrow's strong smack of the paddle on his ultra-sensitive bottom, and slinked back to his seat.
This was terrible. Christian bit at his nails nervously, picturing his father laughing in his face saying, "See son, I told you so!" with an oh-so satisfied look on his face. He'd never take him as a serious writer after this! Drastic measures had to be taken.
Christian headed towards Mrs. Morrow's desk again. He leaned against the desk and began to whistle. Mrs. Morrow cursed under her breath and slowly looked up to meet Christian's gaze. She glared at him in an intimidating manner from above her thick, magnifying-like glasses.
"Yes?" Mrs. Morrow demanded impatiently.
"Mrs. Morrow, about that paper . . ."
Mrs. Morrow shook her head and sighed loudly.
"Now listen, I think we could make some kind of deal here," Christian proposed. He reached into his pocket and slyly showed Mrs. Morrow his hidden stash of bills.
Mrs. Morrow tutted. "Mr. James, I will not accept your money in exchange for a better grade," she said, crossing her arms disapprovingly.
"Why not?!" Christian whined.
"Mr. James, keep your voice down -"
"WHY CAN'T I PAY YOU LIKE EVERYONE ELSE DOES?!?!" Christian screamed with a crazed look in his eye.
Some of the boys in the class noticed the commotion.
"Want me to beat him up, Mrs. M?" asked a big, macho guy.
"Do SOMETHING; he's gone mad!"
"C'mon boys!" said the macho guy to his macho friends. They all cracked their knuckles and began to beat down the deranged boy.
"OWWW! STOP IT!" Christian cried under the fury of fists.
"Alright, alright. Let him go now, boys." Mrs. Morrow intervened.
"Oh, we'll let him go alright." The big guys carried Christian to the window and tossed him out, letting him fall down the 3 stories to the ground below. After a moment, Christian rolled over and groaned as pain seared all through his body.
"Don't blame Mrs. M if your writing sucks!" One of them yelled down to Christian.
"I'll have you know," Christian protested, "that I will one day become a world famous writer! You'll be paying to see my plays and read my books."
Everyone from the class laughed at him.
"I'll show you!" he cried. "I'll show you all!"
So the broken-up, bloody boy staggered home and announced to his family that he would be leaving for Paris to pursue his career as a professional writer . . . but not before he took his paper and ever so carefully changed the F to look more like a B . . . and then he added a plus, just to make himself look a little better.
He received his expected response from his conservative father, but he didn't care. He was off to Paris to become a writer and show the world just how wonderful of a writer he could be.
A/N: Don't know what the point of that was. Oh well! Thanks for reading, please review! :o)