A Bad Day

• Jesse Johnson, Grade 7
• Short Story
• 2022

"Pssst, Jeremy, pssst!" My friend James whispers. "Huh?" I mutter. We are sitting in History class, studying for our exam on Ancient Egypt. I have been woken up by James. "Jeremy, wake up! She's coming!" he frantically tells me. I look up to see Mrs Powers, our History teacher, darting towards me. "Jeremy Porter!" she bellows from halfway across the room. "Show me your work immediately!" I hurriedly get together my worksheets. "Umm, ok Miss..." She runs over, her dress flapping in the wind she had created. She comes up to me and snatches the papers from my hands. "Mr Porter, may I ask, WHERE IS YOUR WORK?!" she screeches at me. "Well...umm... I've got none Miss." I whimper. Taking a deep breath, she yells "Lunch detention!" The bell goes. Tears in my eyes, I slowly walked out of the room, to detention.
I arrive, I knock on the door. "Come in." I hear, it was Mr Smith, he is the most presumptuous, ill-mannered teacher I had ever met. I cautiously make my way in, I don't want to get in any more trouble than I'm already in. "Ahhh, and who’s this, Jeremy Porter, I see, come over and sit down at a desk." he mumbles at me. I make my way over to a desk and sit down, it's right next to a window. It's the only desk available. I sit down and unpack my things, Mrs Power wants me to write 'I must not sleep during school' 500 times. I've never been in detention before, never in my life and it is much worse than I would ever think. Everybody flings things at you, abuses you, whispers mean things to you and worst of all the teacher doesn't care. I look at the clock. It’s only been 7 minutes! It feels like it’s been 4 hours! Mr Smith has drifted off. I glance at the window and think. It's my only other option apart from sitting in detention from lunch until after school.
I impact the ground hard, 2 stories is a long way to fall, it’s hard to breathe, I landed on my chest, but I soldier on despite what I think is a broken rib. I sprint for my life, up the pathway, hoping nobody told Mr Smith that I escaped by jumping out the open window. Then something happens, I hear somebody screaming at the top of their lungs "COME BACK HERE, BOY!!!!" It’s Mr Smith and he's angry and he's bolting right towards me! I'm terrified! I can hardly move! But then I do the most stupid thing I could've done. I dashed out across the road. I'd been hit, I felt a gut-wrenchingly painful affliction to my chest. I start to black out. The last thing I ever saw was my own leg, 10 metres to my right. I die a slow, excruciatingly painful death, with my last thought being that I regret doing this.