She Has A Pretty Face Though (Part I)

The following is the first of what will be many short pieces of a story I thought of while at work.  The title was actually overheard by a customer at my PT job, who was trying to set up her male friend with the female friend in question.  I’ve never been a fan of this phrase, and when I heard it I thought of a great story to accompany it.  Special thanks go out to my co-worker, Gabe, who let me in on some special insight and ideas for certain areas of the story.  Finally, this story is a step away from what I am used to writing and not in the Horror genre.  There will be some language, as well as violent scenes/descriptions along the way.  If this isn’t your cup of tea, then I hope to see you in one of my other posts!

“Scott?  Are you listening to a word I’m saying?”

“Yes mom…”

“Now, don’t forget.  After school, I won’t be able to pick you up.  You’re going to have to ride the bus.  Also, I need you to walk over to the market after you get off.  The list is in your lunchbox.”

“Yeeess mom, I won’t forget!”

He pulled the visor down and checked his hair for the umpteenth time.  Just as it was the last time he looked, it was still parted to the side but he worried it with a comb anyhow.  When he was sure that the part was where he wanted it; parted from the left side to the right, he took a moment to study the reflection looking back at him.

Scott was the youngest of four children and the only one who had inherited his father’s looks.  Unlike his siblings, however, this was not a good thing.  His shoulders were way too broad for his skinny frame and whenever he walked, it was with his toes facing in.  His skin, sickly and pale compared to the rest of his family, always stood out in contrast to those around him and it was one of two things about him that made him a target with the bullies.  The other was his round freckled face, topped by an unruly mop of red hair.

It was these last features he studied in the visor’s mirror.  He looked into his brown eyes, trying to see in himself the good that his mother said was there but what she saw and what he found were two different things.

“…you listening?”


“I swear…  What am I ever going to do with you?”

The question was rhetorical, and when he didn’t offer any suggestions, she repeated her last question.

“Your sister has recital practice tonight and your brothers will be studying with friends, so you’ll have the house to yourself.  Please see to the trash and make sure Tippy gets let out for a little bit?”

He let out a long, irritated sigh before answering.

“God mom, can’t she walk her own damn dog?  Why do I always have to do it?”

“Scott!  I’m not asking much you know.  Would you please put the dog out?  And watch your language when you talk to me.”

He angrily flipped the visor up and let out another long sigh as he rested his forehead against the window and watched the houses pass by.


It wasn’t okay, however, and even though he nodded in agreement, he wasn’t very thrilled about it at all.  Why should he be?  His sister had been nothing short of a sneaky little bitch to him for the last two years.  She watched him like a hawk, and whenever he did something that was even remotely against the rules, she was the first to blow the whistle.

“Whatever,” he muttered halfheartedly. .

The rest of the ride was in silence with his mom casting a few worried glances over at him, but he didn’t let her know that he knew she was watching him.  It didn’t really matter to him what she was thinking, because right at that moment he was entertaining a dozen different ways to get rid of a certain little mutt.

He stood over the Labradoodle, sneering in contempt for the wretched little creature.  Its light brown hair is long and unkempt from not getting enough attention with the brush, and it was tangled into knots in several places on its body.  The smell of its unwashed hide was enough to make him puke.  The dog looked up at him with a stupid expression and it was all he could do to keep from laughing.  

“Come on girl.  Come on, you mangy sack of crap, let’s go outside.  You wanna go outside?  Yeah?  Come on, you nasty waste of space, lets go!”

His shot his foot out at the dog, smiling with satisfaction when it connected with its ribs.,  Tippy yelped in pain as she flew through the open door and out into the…

“Scott?  Heeeellllo McFly!”

He blinked, looking around warily as he recovered from his daydream.


“We’re almost there.  Geez, Scott.  Where do you go all the time?”

He didn’t answer, instead opting to watch out the window as they pulled into the school parking lot.  He slunk down into his seat as the anxiety of being seen dropped off by his mother started to come over him.  It was too late.  Two of the worst possible people had spotted him.

“uuhhhnnn…” he moaned at the thought of having to walk by them.

The first of the two was Tommy Finkle, star quarterback of the Redbird’s football team. The regular lifting of weights, in conjunction with daily cardio regiments kept him in peak shape, while his blond hair, blue eyes and boyish good looks drew in the trust of the adults.  He also knew just enough to get any girl he wanted.

The second of the two was William Jackson, a weaselly little boy whom Scott had always thought looked like a young Steve Buscemi, only without the crazy eyes.

As their car pulled up to the curb, William, also known as B.J. to his friends, covered his mouth and snickered.

“Scott?  Everything okay?”

He scowled as he opened the door to get out.

“I wish you’d goddam listen to me when I say; Drop me off at the other entrance.”

Before she could respond, he stepped out of the car and slammed the door.

“ooOOoo,” came the inevitable catcall from Tommy.  “Lover’s quarrel, Scotty?  What’s the matter?  Did mommy not give you a kiss goodbye?”

The words stung.  Not that he cared much about what they said, it was the intent behind them which was most effective.  It was one thing when those pricks found ways to pick on him without the teachers seeing, but when they did it in front of the rest of his class was when it hurt the most.

He heard the car pull away behind him, but didn’t bother to turn around and see her off.  His jaw was set and his pace determined as he strode confidently up the stairs to the front entrance.  The other students continued to laugh, pointing and whispering behind their hands to one another, but it made no difference.  Nothing mattered anymore.  

He walked in slow motion they way they do in the movies before the credits begin to roll, or when the hero sets off on some great adventure.  He could even hear music playing out of the window of someones car, something about how he was wanted; dead or alive.  As he approached the doors, B.J. and Tommy stepped in front of him.

“Where do you think you’re going,” Tommy sneered at him.

“I don’t want any trouble, partner,” he answered in a slow drawl.

“Easy there, Brokeback Mountain,” B.J. laughed.  “We don’t want any trouble!”

Both boys broke into hysterical laughter, cackling as if that were the funniest joke in the world.

Tommy moved his right hand as if to push him, but he saw it coming.  Stepping aside, he grabbed the preppie’s wrist, turning it over and bending his arm up behind him.  

“Leave me be and I’ll allow you to finish the day without a broken arm,” he said menacingly while looking over Tommy and into B.J.’s eyes.  “Or, if you like, I can finish it.”  His last word spoken was punctuated by bending Tommy’s arm further backward, causing the latter to yelp in pain. 

He smiled to himself as the fantasy continued to play out in his mind.  There were some punches thrown.  There were also some taken, but in his fantasy, he stood triumphant over the two as they lay bleeding and barely conscious on the ground.

(to be continued)

3 thoughts on “She Has A Pretty Face Though (Part I)

    • My pleasure, I enjoyed reading your work in ‘The Writing Process’, and find myself perusing your other articles from time to time. I really enjoy your style of writing. 🙂

      Thank you for the catch there. (Duly noted, and corrected.) I tend to write my blog posts with one eye open and edit them through a squint; a nasty habit I’m learning to change. *laugh*


      • ThAnks for filling me in on those furtive visits you’ve made LOL and the kudos, R. You have one supportive wife for you to be able to follow your bliss (re: your About). And typos happen to us all. I just wanted to see your work look as clean as I know you take pains to craft it.


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