This was an English assignment I had a while back, and I decided to post it for fun. The underlined things are part of the assignment: ‘Using three items, write a story with them, being no longer than 3 and a half pages, double-spaced,’ and we had to underline them. Mine were: a double-chocolate chip muffin fallen into the grass, rolled into the mud, and dipped into milk, a dead, corroded hearing aid battery, and a bottle of bright red 0.99 nail polish from Walgreens. I’m still not sure if pop culture references are allowed since I’m still pretty new to the site and the guidelines weren’t too clear, but here goes nothing.

Disclaimer: Do not own items used as pop culture references.

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Revenge is Best Served with Milk

It was a bright and sunny day with all the trimmings: sun shining, birds singing outside my window as they sat perched on the elm tree outside my house, and not a cloud in the sky.

How I loathed it.

I flopped onto my side, furiously rubbing my eyes and rousing myself awake as I threw an acid glare at the alarm clock screeching as loud as the sound barrier would allow before throwing it against my wall, watching it shatter and cursing under my breath. Darn, that cost me 2.99.

Finally awake, I walked to my window, careful of the broken metal shards littering my bedroom floor--mother would kill me later—and shooing the birds away. God, why was the world so goddamn cheery when I felt miserable? Was it some mass conspiracy or did it just love to mess with me? Then again, I just answered my question as my mind was filled was an image of her. Who was I referring to? Why, it’s none other than the girl who just loved to torment me everyday--the kind of girl that was the ruler of the school and had every boy at her beck and call while the teachers simply adored her--that kind of girl. They have one at every school. Ours happened to be a classic American beauty named Sheryl. You know, blonde hair, blue eyes, tall, beautiful, and always wearing something that would put even a model to shame. A sigh escaped my lips.

‘And to think I have the honor of being her verbal punching bag,’ I thought to myself with a bitter sarcasm that only came from being bullied and oppressed. Such is the life of a teenager, I told myself.

Shutting my window, I set forth towards my bathroom, kicking dirty clothing out of my way when I spotted the calendar on my wall. There, in a giant red circle, was my savior: Saturday. And not just any Saturday—oh no—it was “allowance day” Saturday.

Quickly throwing on any relatively-clean clothing, I dashed down the stairs, grabbed the money in my mother’s out-stretched hand, and kissed her cheek, running out the door before she could even blink again. Pretty good for a fourteen-yr-old.

I ran to the bakery a few blocks from my house. It was a pretty new building, with the words “Blue Moon” in faded dark-blue letters. Entering the bakery, I scanned the place and noticed the line was short. Maybe today was a lucky day for me.

And just then, they came. The delicious morsels I’d sell my soul for. The Blue Moon’s famous double chocolate chip muffins. I could already feel saliva ready to pour.

“Next?” the cashier asked, a girl only a few years older than me. Hurriedly, I gave my order and fidgeted anxiously as I watched her place my muffin in the small white paper bag before grabbing a bottle of milk. My eyes wide, I hurriedly slammed down my money (exact change, of course), before sprinting out the door as I cackled like a witch. What could I say? Those muffins were that good.

I couldn’t exactly say what happened next, but the stream of words that followed would’ve appalled the FCC and made any sailor proud. There, on the ground, and quickly rolling down the hill was my muffin--my double-chocolate chip muffin that had just fallen in the grass and gotten covered in dirt, leaving me to stare at it forlornly with a half a bottle of milk in my hands. Wonderful. Today couldn’t possibly get any worse.

“Hey Tina!”

Scratch that. Today was going to get a lot worse.

“Sheryl…” I managed to grind out through my teeth as polite society demanded. Darn it, I had no time to deal with her. Not today.

“Whatsamatter, Tina? Did your mother finally crack and tell you that you were adopted out of pity? I know, the truth hurts,” she said with false sympathy.

‘Not as much as it will when I punch those pearly-whites of yours into your collagen-injected face,’ I thought, but decided to take the high road. After all, I wouldn’t stoop to her level. (Plus, it wouldn’t do to have “murder” written in my permanent record.)

Ignoring the sound of her shrill laughter as she cackled with her band of bubble-heads, I stared at my muffin for a while as her words bounced around my head when all of a sudden, an idea hatched into my brain. It was brilliant. Underhanded enough to make Gregory House proud, but still playful enough to make Santino smile. The question was: dare I do it? Morally, it was wrong, and in reality, it was just plain disgusting, but just when I was about to throw away the plan, her voice and her words replayed in my mind and I bent down to pick up the muffin. Moral high-ground be damned; this was too good to pass up.

Brushing off the blades of grass that stuck to the muffin, I dipped it in the remainder of my milk when my fingers brushed over something rough. I plucked it from the indent in the muffin and rolled it around in my fingers. It was a hearing-aid battery. Possibly the one my father lost last week when we went to the park, but it wasn’t of any use now. It was dead, corroded by the elements and rain. I toyed around with the idea of placing it in the milk or placing it back in the muffin for Sheryl to eat, but decided against it. I wasn’t that mean.

Smiling to myself, I turned to my bottle of milk when horror struck me. It was empty. Crud. Sheryl would be suspicious if I just presented her with the muffin and no milk. (She’d say I was trying to kill her since she’d get thirsty and get dehydrated or get calcium-deficiency.)

I paced a bit, mulling over my next move when I spotted it. Walgreens. A smile split across my face. Throwing down the battery and carelessly tossing the muffin back into my paper bag, I ran across the street to the store with its big red letters, thanking whoever was up there for this streak of luck. Retrieving the milk from the refrigerated section, I waited for my turn in line when I spotted a small vial of bright red nail polish in the section labeled ‘.99.’ I grinned. Grabbing the vial, I placed it onto the grey counter with a triumphant, giddy smile, ignoring the strange look the cashier sent me. Nothing could spoil my mood—not when I was finally going to get back at her.

The steady beat of the receipt printing hung in my ears as I tapped my foot impatiently. Couldn’t he hurry up? I had a scheme to execute!

With a limp lift of his hand, my receipt and change were dropped into my hand and I bolted out the door and across the street, now grinning ear-to-ear as I saw her exiting the park.

“Sheryl!” I cried out cheerfully and she looked up, startled, with a flicker of an emotion akin to fear in her eyes, but I didn’t care. I couldn’t help that I was smiling like a lunatic, not with such a euphoria coursing through my veins! I shook my head.

“Sheryl, I know we’re not on good terms”—

“Whatever made you think we were to being with?” she interrupted with an air of superiority and a look that said ‘what the hell have you been smoking?’ I continued.

“But I wanted to start again, so here,” I said as I handed her my “peace offerings” and gave a cheery farewell. Turning on my heel, I waved goodbye before turning to face my path once more as I tried to swallow my mirth. Not only was the muffin contaminated, the nail polish clashed with every outfit in her closet.

The end.

Pop culture references:

FCC: Federal Communications Commission

Gregory House: Genius diagnostician with a misanthropic attitude. From House M.D.

Santino: Designer who appeared on Project Runway. Played a joke by impersonating one of the judges, eventually spinning a story around the judge and a fellow contestant.