Ms. Fleming’s Wig

Ms. Fleming’s wig had gone missing. Naturally, everybody blamed me. Who else would do such an atrocious act to their elderly teacher? Well, why leave her wig unattended, I say. Girls will be girls. Anyway, I hadn’t touched her filthy wig. Yuck! The very thought of it disgusted me. I bet she hasn’t washed it since…well, ever. Probably some vermin scampered off with it, mistaking it for a mate. Or that ginger kid..she does weird things sometimes. But definitely not me. Well, not this time.

I’m fed up of everyone blaming me for everything. I’ve been tarred with the same brush as my lunatic big sister, Annie. They never even gave me a chance. I remember that first day at high school vividly; the wrinkly skinned, voluminously eyebrowed Ms. Fleming leering over us all at assembly. It was a little tradition of hers to try to terrify the new students into total submission. Her mouth looked like a capsized boat, and as she came closer (why, oh why, had I let Marion drag me to the second row?!) I could smell the mothballs and hatred on her breath. She paced along in front of us slowly, menacingly, deliberately; like an old stray alley cat who in its old age has gotten confused, and thinks it is a tiger or something. When she saw me, she screeched to a stop, and I knew I was in trouble. Fluffy blonde hair, bogey-green eyes and an unfortunate amount of freckles, I am a replica of my big sister.

“You…” she snarled. “You must be a Tumbleweed. Mark my words, child, I will not tolerate another Tumbleweed wreaking havoc on my school. You dare poke one toe out of line, I’ll…”

What she would have done, I can only have nightmares to imagine, because at that precise moment, the fire alarm went off and mass hysteria ensued. She may not have made my start at Horrible, sorry Hamilton, High, easy, but you’ve got to give Annie credit. Her timing was impeccable. She’d mentioned over breakfast she might drop by to entertain the newbies.

I think if prior to the fire alarm Ms. Fleming was suspicious of me, at that moment, she marked me down as a candidate for experimental education.

This story was written in response to a writing prompt in a book I’m reading, which gave me the first sentence and told me to write freely for 15 minutes without stopping. The above is the result. I’m feeling a new book coming on! “Hamilton High and The Candidate for Experimental Education”…would you want to read more?!

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