“Fing brats.” I held my hands over my ears as the fire alarm went off.

  I was so fing tired of this kind of shit. There was always something at this place.

  “Rich spoiled brats.”

  I went to the door, picking up a cigarette as I walked, and put my hand on it. It was warm.

  “So not a prank,” I whispered to myself.

  I looked behind me at the window, walked over, and tried opening it. It felt stuck.

  “Fing windows.” I couldn’t open it. Then I saw someone had screwed it shut.

  Yeah, not a prank. Fing idiots.

  I grabbed the nearest stool and threw it through the window, then climbed out onto the fire escape. I could hear someone on the steps above me.

  “You hurry down! It’s not time to be chatting—it’s a fire! You’re over the chemist room!”

  They didn’t seem to listen at first, so I moved to go up. Then I heard clanging from someone rushing down the fire escape. I looked up and felt a kick to my chest. I went over the railing, felt all the air leave my lungs as I landed on something, and passed out.

  I woke up with this irritating ass telling me I was lucky I landed on a car and that it was only the second floor.

  The narrative has been illicitly obtained; should you discover it on Amazon, report the violation.

  Yeah, lucky. I lost my sight and hearing on my left side, and I was pretty sure this ass was trying to cover up who did this.

  “Are you listening, *********?”

  I focused back on the ass and gave something like a nod.

  “The preliminary investigation shows that someone started the fire.”

  It was obvious that one of those demon students did it.

  “And we found cigarettes on you and saw that it started near the room you had gone through.”

  What. Was it the morphine, or was he trying to blame me?

  “It may have been accidental, but it doesn’t change that you started a fire near a flammable and dangerous area. As a teacher, you should have understood the consequences of it.”

  WHAT. WHAT. No, no, no.

  This had to be a drug hallucination. I tried to speak but couldn’t.

  Three years of losing my credibility, my ability to sustain myself, and drowning in medical debts with a prolonged lawsuit. Yeah, I was proven innocent—but not before losing everything.

  I had started drinking. I also learned who did this to me. You learn a lot just sitting and listening to folks talk, especially when it’s a psychopathic little shit.

  I looked at my reflection to remind myself why I was doing this.

  I saw a deep scar running from the ridge of my nose over my missing eye, disappearing behind my hair, but I knew it went all the way down to my neck.

  I learned after getting out of the hospital that my ability to walk—or run, to be precise—had been affected. I couldn’t even have children anymore. I wasn’t planning to, but now I couldn’t even if I wanted to.

  It was time. I looked back through the scope, saw him—the fing mayor’s son—and shot him through the back.

  I awoke from the dream, everything hurting, understanding one thing: that dream had been my past life, and I could not relate to or understand her at all.

  Except one thing.

  And that was revenge.