Through the searing pain of my tears, I looked up to see 2, 6, and 7, standing over me smirking. One of them, I didn't care who, seemed to laugh as he...spoke. "It's about time that bitch died. I don't know why the hell you kept her alive so long. It's not like she ever 'paid you back' for..."Hearing those words and the implication behind them, I let my anger take over me. Hell, I welcomed the purity of the rage I felt, letting it drown out everything else I was feeling with its clarity of. At first I thought she was one of the senior students - she looked a bit older than me, maybe 16 or 17. But then I realized she was not wearing our school uniform, which consisted of a tartan skirt and short sleeved white blouse, white knee sox and low heeled black shoes. She was wearing a very short denim skirt and a very thin, low cut tee shirt and the nipples of her tits were showing plainly through the fabric so it was obvious she didn’t wear a brassier. But she did wear a big warm smile. More

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