Stuff for Stuffy Reasons of Stuffness

Conflict

I couldn't stop my hands from trembling as I crept through the darkened hallway, the occasional street light shining through the frosted glass windows, momentarily reflecting off my unkempt, bleached hair before plunging me back into darkness.Twitching, my eyes darted around at every little noise, shimmering with worry as I continued to prowl down the expanse of laminated tile flooring.

With a shaking breath, I glanced behind me, yet again, at the pale lit hall, eyes slowly adjusting as I paused in my movement forward. my heart thudded loudly in my ears, drowning out all other noise. A shadow passed, darting across my line of vision. Just a car, I thought as I struggled to control my ragged breathing.

"This is stupid." I muttered under my breath, shaking my head at my paranoia while turning forward once again to continue my journey. Small echos of my footsteps rebounded down through the walk ways cancelling out the white noise of silence. I picked up speed, opting to spend as little time as possible in this forsaken place.

He deserves this, doesn't he? If he does, then why am I second guessing myself? I pursed my lips at that thought. Oh well, too late to stop now. Brushing my fringe out of my eyes I looked at the many steel doors, all lined up printed with different numbers. The metal numerals looked dull, scratched and cold, the once bright silver now grey due to years of wear. The door itself smelled of fresh paint. The lingering scent wafted up my nose making me cringe with the intensity of the drying green layers. The lockers are ugly as fuck.

Keeping a sharp eye on the every rising numbers, I reached into my pocket. Folded paper made contact with my fingers making me sigh in relief. Good, I didn't leave it behind. I continued fingering the paper as I made my way to the correct locker number, biting my lip, unsure of my decision on revenge.

Will it leave him embarrassed and humiliated? Probably. Will it crumble his emotional state down to a puddle of tears? Most likely. Does he deserve this punishment I'm about to inflict upon him...?

Still pending.

I cringed at the thought of the aftermath. No doubt the results of my teen-aged quarrel will leave the receiver of my actions weakened significantly. The paper in my pocket felt heavier, sharper after those thoughts. It seemed to give off a foreboding feel as I drew it from my pocket. The letters inscribed burnt through the paper and into my mind as I repeated the writing in my head. I sighed as my gaze lowered to the neatly folded parchment. It's such a pity that a single piece of paper could hold such power in an adolescents life.

Power that I was about to abuse.

Stopping, I retraced my steps to the correct numbered locker, being too emersed in my thoughts to notice it the first time. Reaching out my hand my fingers lightly grazed over the number. 413. This was it. My hand slowly brought the paper to the vent in the door, pausing. A sense of dread overcame me, causing my faulter in movement. My hand trembled as I stared at the paper. Should I really? Is it worth it? Taking a breath, I exhaled slowly to clear my thoughts and stop my quivering hand. And without another thought,

I slipped the note into the locker.