I was looking up etiquette for talking with aliens, then this popped into my head.

Two-chap one-shot...Maybe. Enjoy.

Rated for what I hope are obvious reasons.


"Excuse me."

"You're excused."

It's funny, how such a small exchange of words can lead to the end of your life.

But then again, how does one distinguish between one who finds no problem with killing people and a regular person?

Obvious cases aside, it's like finding a single grain of salt in a big ol' bowl of sugar. Only harder, because unlike sugar and salt you can't just walk up to a person and taste them to see a difference. Usually, anyway.

Oh, how rude of me. My name is Suzannah B. Lee, "Zannah" for short, and it's nice to meet you. Really, it is.

I know we've only just met, but I really do need another ear right now.

Could you stay for a listen? Thank you.

So, my dilemma starts with a walk down a crowded hallway of kids, some guy's rank breath in my nostrils and shoulders bumping with almost everyone else there. My day already kinda sucked.

I was just trying to maneuver through that flood of people, a helpless little boat in a seastorm of angry or anxious kids raging with hormones. Now, I'd had manners beaten into me at a very young age, and to say "Excuse me," after bumping into someone was part of those manners. So obviously, I was a broken record. "'Scuse me, pardon me, excuse me," blah blah blah. No one pauses to say anything back or acknowledge me, but I can't stop. "Excuse me" comes out of my mouth like hiccups, constantly and convulsively.

Then she bumps into me. Terry, Tori, Tabby, whatever the hell her name is. It started with a "T," that's all I remember. (I refuse to dedicate more brain cells to this obnoxious bitch and remember her full name.) Nameless Skank is stalking down the hall (not walking, stalking), making a beeline for me. She comes like a large piece of debris to smack me with her shoulder, hard enough that I am almost knocked down. The look in her bloodshot brown eyes is of satisfaction.

How pathetic, right? I never did understand how making me miserable would make her own life any better, but I was the victim, so what did I know? No-Name-Bitch had simply decided I was either small enough not to fight back, too alone to resist, or just plain too strange to leave alone. There were no friends of mine to group together like a school of fish would to scare a shark away. She knew this, and it made her grin happily whenever she harassed me and not one passerby would glance in our direction.

But, back to this one particular moment of persecution.

She was just standing over me, eyes taking in my scattered homework and my hand on the ground to keep balance. No people came over to help, and her crooked grin widened.

I hated her. I really hated her.

But I refused to let her get any more out of me, and I remembered my manners. So, I swallowed the cuss words bubbling up, and said "Excuse me."

Her mouth was twitching at the corners. "You're excused."

She cocked her head to the side as she said it, a hand on her stuck-out hip.

And walked away, without another word.

I got up and gathered my books and papers, all the while a firestorm heated my face and gave me a headache. Now, I know it doesn't sound like much. I know for a fact it shouldn't have been much.

Antics like this were common, and I usually brushed it off like a burr on my clothes.

So why did I snap?

Well, I guess my wall of passiveness broke a bit with each takedown, and it was weak enough that that little wisecrack destroyed my dam. Somehow that snarky little remark was the last straw. I swore Bully girl would not live long after.

You might not like what happens next, but I really must get this off my chest…

Chapter 2, coming soon. Reviews now, please.