An Unborn Revenge
"How many times do I need to say this? Drop the paper in the box once you've filled it out," Michelle repeated to students crowding up to her desk. Her pointed finger began to shake with anger as she motioned toward her "drop-in box," and she took a deep, calming breath.
"All right, kids. This is the last time I'm telling you: Put your papers in the da—the box!" She was nearly hysterical at this point.
The children finally calmed down and shuffled their miniature third-grade feet to the drop-in box, which was becoming hard to see under the swarm of plump little-kid arms, each trying to stick in their crumpled piece of paper. Michelle sighed and, rolling her eyes, returned to correcting spelling tests.
Back at her cramped apartment, Michelle sighed heavily and flopped across the musty, spoiled-olive green couch that she'd had since college. Breathing slowly, she found her eyes closed and, before she knew it, she was asleep. Fifteen minutes later, Michelle awoke to the annoying sound of