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The Importance of A Sound Mind (Or Lack Thereof)

It was a gorgeous day. The sun came up, like it always does, burning merrily, heralding in a new day. The new Spring flowers shook off the night's dew and lifted their heads to be caressed by the warm sunlight. The birds were singing sweetly. A pair of blue birds were building their nest in the huge oak tree outside my window and making a horrid racket.

Spring is Nature's Mardi Gras. It's when everything comes to life, puts on their Sunday best, finds a nice insert noun here and screws like mad. Seriously. Animals, if you'll notice, only have a certain amount of time to get all that marvelous love making out of the way, settle down, and raise babies. When you think about it, animals and the like have it a lot better than humans in the sexual relationship aspect. I mean, with a lot of animals it's the GIRL who gets to be the picky, flirty bitch. It's the guy's job to impress her. If the guy isn't big enough, strong enough or can't build a good nest, oh well, it's too freaking bad for you.

And all you chauvinistic pigs can just shove THAT up your tight little asses!

"ANNA MARIIIIEEEEE!" screamed my mother form the bottom of the stairs, "ARE YOU UP YET?!"

"YEEESSSSS!" I hollered back. I lied, so sue me. Stretching lazily in my bed, I considered the possibilities of staying home sick today.

"YOU AREN'T STAYING HOME TODAY, YOUNG LADY, NOW GET OUT OF BED!" It would appear that my mother had suddenly become clairvoyant. That would certainly create problems for me.

Nonetheless, I was feeling particularly jolly, for no specific reason. I felt that today was going to be an absolutely wonderful day! Sure, we had just recently moved from the country to a big city. Sure, I was going to some private, all girl's school. Sure, the uniform was rot ugly and tailored to fit those with fetishes for Catholic school girls in various shades of grey. But I was still in a good mood.

Practically springing out of bed, I bonded over to my closet, tripped on the rug in the middle of my room and ran head first into the wall. "OW-EEEEE!" I howled, holding the beginnings of a very large bump on the top of my head.

So much for starting off the day right.

I stole a package Poptart as I left the house. I waited till I was in the back of the school bus, out of the driver's sight, before I snuck them out. Gloating over my prize, I took out the first one and was about to take that first bite when my cell phone rang. Swearing, I dug it out of my purse, which I wisely carried separately from my book bag for this very reason. "Hello?"

"Well, hello you self-serving little bitch."

Whatever I had been expecting, it sure as hell wasn't that. I paused, with my Poptart half way to my mouth and said the most intelligent thing I could think of. "Eh?"

"Don't play coy with me," snarled the male voice on the other end, "You know damn well who this is!"

"Not really," I admitted.

The man snorted, "So you are as dumb as you look. It's Spike."

"Okkaaayy," I said slowly, "What do you want?"

A short, cruel laugh, "You know damn well what I want, bitch. Thought you could get away with stealing from me? Wrong again, baby."

"Look, buddy, I don't know who the hell you think you are but..."

Something was slammed down on the other end of the phone, "Don't fuck with me, Brittany Daniels."

"Who the fuck is Brittany Daniels?!" I demanded. This was either one of two things. One, this Spike fellow, in his rage, dialed the wrong number. Two, my phone was living a secret double life. The girl in front of me, with short, badly bleached hair and too much eyeliner, turned and glared at me.

"I'm Brittany Daniels," she snarled, "Ya got a problem with that?!"

"No!" I snarled back, pointing at my phone, "But he does!" To Spike, I said, "You want to talk to Brittany Daniels?" I switch my phone to speaker phone, "Say hello, Brittany!"

She glared at me, "The fuck is your problem, you..."

"You little whore!" Spike practically screamed. I had to turn the volume on my phone down. The garbled cursing and threats muted, I raised my eyebrows at Brittany.

"Feisty little fellow. He belong to you?" I asked in my best condescending drawl. Brittany ignored me. She was too busy panicking.

"Damn it!" she swore, "I didn't think he'd actually try that number I gave him." All of the things I wanted to express I couldn't find words foul enough to do them justice.

I had to make do with a simple, "YOU GAVE MY CELL PHONE NUMBER TO SOME FUCKING PSYCHO?! HOW THE HELL DO YOU EVEN KNOW IT?!"

Brittany glared at me as she opened up the bus window, "Hey, I just gave him some random numbers. Besides, a slut like you is probably used to getting calls from guys." And with that, she grabbed her bag and slipped out of the window.

I was halfway out the window myself when some of the other students dragged me back. "Let me go!" I snarled, "I'm gonna fucking kill her!"

"Are you nuts?" hissed one of the girls, forcing me back into my seat, "Do you even know who that is?!"

"Well, I gathered that her name was Brittany Daniels," I snapped, my voice dripping with sarcasm.

"That's right," said another girl, "You don't want to mess with her! She eats people like you for breakfast."

"She practically rules St. Augustine's," said another girl. Thus warned, I sat back down in my seat. It was then that I realized the Spike was still on speaker phone.

Switching it back to normal, I growled, "Don't call me again."

There was a long pause. "What's your name?"

"The fuck do you care?" I snarled, then reigned in my anger. Technically, none of this was his fault. After all, he didn't know that the number hadn't been Brittany's. "I'm Anna Marie."

"Anna Marie, huh?" Swear to God, I could HEAR him smirk, "Hey, I'm Spike."

I couldn't help smiling a little, "Hi, Spike."

"So," Spike murmured, his voice suddenly low and seductive, "How often do you get called for phone sex?"

"Hey Spike?" I asked.

"Hmmm?"

"Fuck off." I could still hear his laughter even after I hung up. Stupid prick, I thought, pouting a little. I finally meet a guy and he turns out to be an asshole. I decided to console myself with the unbacked goodness that is cinnamon Poptarts when I noticed something very important. "THAT BITCH STOLE MY POPTARTS!"