Wow, my first sort of bio-fic, it gets a little sexually nothing serious though, not a serious person.

Chav- English word for, well urban pirates really.

‘HUH, LET ME THINK, WHY DO I WANT TO DO THIS?’

He sat dumbfound punching keys on his computer, the desk was wooden, the screen big, fat, ancient. Nirvana pumping out of the speakers, while he mashed out another poetry analyse for Literature. Seeing how far he could go with out saving. While seeing how long he could go without saving anything. The words seemed purposeless and vague nothing he wrote made sense any more, it never had for literature.

He was terrible in class discussions, every one just staring at him when he opened his mouth. Every time was death, he was bleeding his brain dry of ideas to keep up with everyone else nothing, and still they giggled with their eyes. Not mocking, not just out laughing not that his bitch of a teacher would stop it, he was useless to her. A dumb little chav, who thought he could be soft and gentle enough to analyse the works of masters of the spoken tongue. When he could barely speak in public, stuttering like she does in her heels, as she patrols the ranks of the enlightened.

The bitch-tress of her adorning public all those girls idolising her. And she had taken advantage, he knew. She had sewn her seeds in their virgin soil and he had seen it, don’t say anything, not a word, they were her' s to defile as far as he cared. As long as she stayed away from him, she was dangerous to people who couldn’t spell, who couldn’t speak. The short skirts would cut and slice off curious hands, hands she herself would invite up there.

No he was stupid, damn-able dumb, but he wouldn’t see the flames of hell over her secrets, everyone else can rot and melt in her sin, he was stronger. She couldn’t touch him. She wouldn’t. Not chance the infection of his empty mind. An inferno that was void of all reasonable thought.

So there he was, typing on his computer which sits on a wooden desk, not pine or beech, or Oak, not metal, just wood. While listening to Nirvana’s heart shaped box. Typing out an essay about poetry or Shakespeare, or well it could have been just about anything he was still just a stupid boy writing about things he didn’t understand, lexis and rhyme schemes, characterisation of some dead dude Macbeth, who was complete pointless in existing in the first place. Caught in an infernal trap of his own creation, yet all the stupid boy could think was how come he hadn’t seen it coming? He was stupid to think he could cheat fate? Stupid like the boy he had been born the same way he would die, he lived and bleed and died for nothing.

He had cut all bonds of fellowship he was in his own personal final battle of Mordor facing down a slut for a Literature Teacher, a long dead bard and one of his most mind-numb creations. Trapped behind his desk, listening to Nirvana, seeing how far he could go without saving.

‘490 WORDS, NOT BAD.’ He never saved while he was storming like this, but it made him think how much greatness must have been lost this way? All those pieces of greatness that were lost for ever by RAM, it was a dare with himself. At any moment it could all come trembling down, power cut, power surge, cat whizzing on the plug? It would be funny, he was still caught in a sandwich of guilty, at any moment complete failure or despair, he didn’t care.

Had to finish this essay, had to beat her and that bard, and the girl she had….cuddled when her father died. ‘I’LL BEAT YOU.’

He would get out, with his soul, do dumb people have souls, she probably didn’t think so.

He saved. 627 words, and he wasn’t done yet he had already written his conclusion, knew where he was going, just like before, complete wrong. Had to finish this essay, hopefully saving wouldn’t of slowed him down too much. His train of thought was still warm, good.

‘NO STOPPING THIS TRAIN, HAHAHA!’

Louder nirvana gets loud he cranks up the volume at 3pm, heart shaped box comes on.

He stops to listen, for a second then continues.

8 hours and she would have him again, in her web this essay was his only chance of avoiding her enthral, his fear was mountainous, as his words grew longer, sentences shorter, his confidence failing him as he breathed his last words, hopefully that would do. No way to know.

It was Russian roulette now, the work was done. If she wanted him, he was still lost. No he was out of her reach. She won’t have his flower. The essay was done and Nirvana stopped playing on the computer at 4:23am, hours didn’t make sense now, words didn't make sense.

He was hopeless, 7 hours from meeting his dragon with that essay on his desk for a shield. The flesh melting demon No there would be no flesh melting into her. This essay was dumb, he was dumb, but he wouldn’t do that.

He had only got….A’s in his last three essays.

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Well that's it for now folks, reviews welcome, I’d just love to know what everyone thought, so you follow the little icon if you want.