Flight of the Grievous Angel
by David Cranmer
Sixteen years and life was over because of Heather Nicks...
We had been enemies since kindergarten when I had the upper-hand because of my intellect. In middle school, I learned a hard fact of life: boys preferred tits over brains and Heather’s double Ds stole Spoon away from me. With him went my self-confidence.
Daddy had given me money for the mall to take his “angel’s mind off boy troubles,” but, as the escalator rose carrying me to the second floor, my heart sank deeper.
There they were, smiling, coming toward me on the down escalator. Heather wrapped an arm around her trophy, grabbing his package in a signal of victory, and Spoon sheepishly lapped up the attention. My heart leapt back up into my throat, choking me.
When we were evenly matched, our eyes locked—Heather winked. A volcano of fury erupted in me.
I scaled over the handrails to the other side, descending into rage. Car keys extended, I plunged them into Spoon's neck and pulled them out in a swift motion. Blood gushed freely; the three of us tumbled to the bottom. I began wildly digging at Heather’s face with bare hands.
I’ve been in juvenile detention for a year now. Spoon survived, but he’ll think twice before crossing another girl. As for Heather, she will be reminded of me every time she looks in the mirror.
Sadly, Daddy thought he was helping that day, but instead, this grievous angel settled a score and took flight.