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My locker wasn’t opening, and I knew I was going to be late for English. Again. My teacher was going to kill me every day for the rest of my life.
Thinking fast, I pulled out a small remote control and hit the big red button that was labeled “Do not push”. Somewhere far off in space a Katyusha rocket launched a meteor on a crash course with Cincinnati. It struck a giant Dunkin’ Donuts loop-shaped sign, which fell to the ground and rolled down the street to the nearby power generator, annihilating not only the structure but also the Al Qaeda terrorist squad attempting to take control of it. The lights all over the city instantly went out, including those in the school.
Back in the now semi-dark building, I whipped out my comm. unit and made a call to my old friends from a liberation army in Stalingrad. I gave them coordinates for a light anti-personnel airstrike and ducked behind a trashcan. Suddenly a Sukhoi S-37 fighter plane pumped several pounds of lead into the ceiling. One of the six-inch long bullets nailed the lock on my locker, which shattered. I quickly scooped up the remains, wrapped them in a tarp and duct tape, and dumped the bundle in the trashcan. Now to clean up the mess.
I dialed a number on my cell phone, my fingers dancing across the small lights that made up the buttons. After the other line rang four times, a deep voice with a heavy Russian accent answered.
“Привет, comrade,” answered Lieutenant Konstantin Stalin, of the Russian Mafia. “How can I be of service?”
“Do you still have those plutonium canisters?”
“Ah yes, the 5,000 liters of pure liquid plutonium.” The voice laughed. “It was not easy to wrestle it out of the hands of the Fascists.”
“Yeah, listen,” I said. “I need you to plug it into a generator at–“ I checked my watch and read the coordinates to him. “124.6832 degrees longitude and 47.3353 degrees latitude”
“All of it?”
“All of it.”
There was a pause on the other end. “Да, comrade. We owe you a great favor. Now our debt has been paid. Прощание.”
Ten minutes later the electricity came back on. I went to my locker, grabbed my binder, and sprinted to English. I sat down just as the bell rang. My teacher walked to the front of the class.
“Alright, open your books to page 342.”
That’s when I realized the inevitable truth; in my haste, I had grabbed my math book instead of English.
I sighed, pulling out my remote control…
 Xx-disposable-hero-xX · Wed Jun 04, 2008 @ 08:56pm · 3 Comments |
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