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  • Writer's pictureRhiannon Bird

Hate Flash Fiction


She was laughing at me again; she would look at me then giggle with the other girls. The pencil was already in my hand, the scissors shaving off layers of wood.

My knuckles whitened around it. I couldn’t hear anyone else, just her laughter echoing in my ears.

When the bell rang, I was out of my seat and sprinting through the woods behind school. I stopped when I reached the corner of Mason street. There I waited for her, then I could finally stop the laughing. Her voice floated towards me, and my grip on the sharped pencil tightened.

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