Calm in a Fire Storm

When her name was called, she almost wanted to walk out the door of the place. But that was an almost and she didn’t. Laura bravely approached the flames, watched them lick at her shoes before stepping into the bright circle.

She waited for a fear of being burned alive to come, but it never did. She waited for something to happen. Two long minutes passed before anything did, and that was because of her doing. Laura’s palms were becoming a bit sweaty, probably that nervous thing she had going for her as always.

A bead of sweat fell from her brow as she waited.

Then all of a sudden, this very bored-looking creature made of flames came into her view. When the creature saw Laura, it snickered.

Maybe this was it.

I come walking in, looking around, bored. I haven't had a chance to torture any students of late, with the last one jumping the hell out of the flames when I started getting to personal with her. Guess she didn't want to go to school that bad, huh?

Then there's this chick standing before me ... some babe with a bad ginger dye job. I mean, I know ginger: I had that goddamn Malibey in here, and boy, did he find out what ginger really looks like! Ha!

I'm trying to figure out what to wear, and damned if I know. I finally decide I'll go with something simple: black tank-top, black leather jacket, black leather pants, black boots. Sis would say I was emulating Death, and she'd be so right. I need to bring her in on one of these jobs some time. She'd love this.

I check the Babe of the Moment, looking her up and down. "Well," I say, fingering my ankh, "what do you have to say for yourself, Chickalita?"

When I don’t answer right away, she starts to tap her foot impatiently. Still bored.

I could always be a smart-ass about this, but I doubt that would get me anywhere fast. I could comment on the temperature, remark about how an air conditioner would be splendid right about now.

“I have nothing much to say about myself, I guess.” I glance her way. “What about you? What do you have to say for yourself?”

I'm thinking to myself, "Why does she think my foot is tapping? Is she nuts? Is she on drugs?" Oh, damn: what if she's another Ella? Or Anna. Dammit, spirits, we got enough whack jobs at the school now. Just what we need: one who thinks she's controlling me!

I hear the question, and shake my head. They never get it. You don't ask questions of me . . . "I'm fine this evening," I say. "I was thinking of going out and getting my nails done after I finish scaring the Shit out of all your first years--" I look her over. "But you don't look scared. You're not scared, are you?" I shake my head. "No, you're full of bravado, ready to show me you're made of stern stuff. Or sterner than the kids that have already left here."

I walk up, put my hands on her shoulders, and smile. "Now, tell me--" I twist her around, snapping her upper body around so everything from the waist up is facing backwards, and from the waist down is still pointed in my direction. "--Did that hurt? Oh, and ... how big do you think your ass looks from this point of view?"