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Description
Brett sat in a red leather chair, his legs crossed and the red flushing from his cheeks slowly. He propped his chin up in his hand, sighing in frustration and anger. A woman with short black hair and too much lipstick came out and beckoned Brett into her office with the wave of her finger. He got up clumsily and walked past her into the bland office. They walls were a dull tan and all that sat in there were two chairs, a desk, and a bookshelf. Littered on the top shelf was three or four trophies having to do with the football teams and softball teams. Brett cleared his throat and sat down in a green leather chair, just like the red ones outside. He dropped his bag on the floor slowly. He sunk into it and shifted, frowning uncomfortably. "Now..." Principle Collins began, coming around to her side of the desk and easing into the chair. "What exactly are you hear for, Brett?" she asked. Her tongue sharp like a serpents. "Well, I slipped with a needle and-" Brett stopped, seeing the distasteful look on her face. "I will admit something." Principle Collins said, rolling her chair around the desk to Brett. "You are a trouble student. You may not have done much, but I see it coming.." she said, looking Brett straight in the eyes. "Slip up again." she dared, waving a hand to dismiss Brett from the session. Brett left quickly, and his aggression spiked tenfold. Why did he have to suffer through this... hell. If he could just do something about it. Brett laughed quietly, his eyes flashed in anger. He shook his head quickly. What was he thinking? "I'm a fourteen year old boy..." he whispered, starting to walk back to class. "Aren't you tired of being weak...?" he thought, stopping in front of the bathroom. He stared at it for awhile, ideas forming in his mind. "I'm still human." Brett whispered, walking into the bathroom. He looked at the mirror, rubbing his hand down his face. He heard quick, light footsteps outside. Brett shook slightly. "Do it." he thought, digging around in his bag. Brett stopped and looked back in the mirror. He looked sick. His face was draining of it's color slowly, and he frowned. "What's wrong with me..." he whispered. He put the scissors back into his bag, and zipped it up. Sighing shakily, he sat on the dirty floor and leaned against the wall. "After all, every murderer when he kills runs the risk of the most dreadful of deaths, whereas those who kill him risk nothing except promotion." Brett quoted in a whisper, fighting the odd urge to plunge those scissors into some poor girl's throat. Brett got up and grabbed his bag. He sighed, "I just need to get more rest..." he said, walking the rest of the way to class. By this time, everyone was starting to go to their first class. The halls crowed in a giant traffic jam of bodies, shoving and pushing each other out of the way for a new person to take its place. Brett shoved his way into class, exhaling deeply. He sat down in the same seat from this morning, awaiting Jared and Dante. People kept coming in, until finally their teacher, Mrs. Yarrow, came in a calmed the class to their seats. Brett greeted Dante and Jared, and they talked for a moment before class started. About thirty minutes of class ended, and Mrs. Yarrow commented quickly, "If you would like, you may read or surf the internet.". Brett smiled lightly, pulling out his favorite book, Interview with a vampire. Brett read happily, "You are a vampire who never knew what life was until it ran out in a big gush over your lips.". He smirked quietly. He flipped through the pages to another part, all his favorite ones had sticky notes stuck on the pages. "Where are we? Where do you think, my idiot friend? We're in a nice, filthy cemetery. Does this make you happy? Is this fitting, proper enough? We belong in hell. And what if there is no hell, or they don't want us there? Ever think of that? But there was a hell, and no matter where we moved to, I was in it." Brett smiled. He continued reading until class ended, reluctantly.

Description
Brett sat in a red leather chair, his legs crossed and the red flushing from his cheeks slowly. He propped his chin up in his hand, sighing in frustration and anger. A woman with short black hair and too much lipstick came out and beckoned Brett into her office with the wave of her finger. He got up clumsily and walked past her into the bland office. They walls were a dull tan and all that sat in there were two chairs, a desk, and a bookshelf. Littered on the top shelf was three or four trophies having to do with the football teams and softball teams. Brett cleared his throat and sat down in a green leather chair, just like the red ones outside. He dropped his bag on the floor slowly. He sunk into it and shifted, frowning uncomfortably. "Now..." Principle Collins began, coming around to her side of the desk and easing into the chair. "What exactly are you hear for, Brett?" she asked. Her tongue sharp like a serpents. "Well, I slipped with a needle and-" Brett stopped, seeing the distasteful look on her face. "I will admit something." Principle Collins said, rolling her chair around the desk to Brett. "You are a trouble student. You may not have done much, but I see it coming.." she said, looking Brett straight in the eyes. "Slip up again." she dared, waving a hand to dismiss Brett from the session. Brett left quickly, and his aggression spiked tenfold. Why did he have to suffer through this... hell. If he could just do something about it. Brett laughed quietly, his eyes flashed in anger. He shook his head quickly. What was he thinking? "I'm a fourteen year old boy..." he whispered, starting to walk back to class. "Aren't you tired of being weak...?" he thought, stopping in front of the bathroom. He stared at it for awhile, ideas forming in his mind. "I'm still human." Brett whispered, walking into the bathroom. He looked at the mirror, rubbing his hand down his face. He heard quick, light footsteps outside. Brett shook slightly. "Do it." he thought, digging around in his bag. Brett stopped and looked back in the mirror. He looked sick. His face was draining of it's color slowly, and he frowned. "What's wrong with me..." he whispered. He put the scissors back into his bag, and zipped it up. Sighing shakily, he sat on the dirty floor and leaned against the wall. "After all, every murderer when he kills runs the risk of the most dreadful of deaths, whereas those who kill him risk nothing except promotion." Brett quoted in a whisper, fighting the odd urge to plunge those scissors into some poor girl's throat. Brett got up and grabbed his bag. He sighed, "I just need to get more rest..." he said, walking the rest of the way to class. By this time, everyone was starting to go to their first class. The halls crowed in a giant traffic jam of bodies, shoving and pushing each other out of the way for a new person to take its place. Brett shoved his way into class, exhaling deeply. He sat down in the same seat from this morning, awaiting Jared and Dante. People kept coming in, until finally their teacher, Mrs. Yarrow, came in a calmed the class to their seats. Brett greeted Dante and Jared, and they talked for a moment before class started. About thirty minutes of class ended, and Mrs. Yarrow commented quickly, "If you would like, you may read or surf the internet.". Brett smiled lightly, pulling out his favorite book, Interview with a vampire. Brett read happily, "You are a vampire who never knew what life was until it ran out in a big gush over your lips.". He smirked quietly. He flipped through the pages to another part, all his favorite ones had sticky notes stuck on the pages. "Where are we? Where do you think, my idiot friend? We're in a nice, filthy cemetery. Does this make you happy? Is this fitting, proper enough? We belong in hell. And what if there is no hell, or they don't want us there? Ever think of that? But there was a hell, and no matter where we moved to, I was in it." Brett smiled. He continued reading until class ended, reluctantly.