As the harsh words of her English teacher washed over her, Elizabeth rolled her eyes and stood with a hand on a jutted hip. She knew her submission wasn’t what he imagined when he assigned the piece but she didn’t think he would hate it that badly. He was just old, she reasoned, worn out.
Obviously he was unable to fantasize about a cabal of dragoons marauding through the countryside. She didn’t care about his opinion of her story. He likely stayed home every night and watched weird documentaries on various men named Strauss or how the retainer has changed the world of cosmetic dentistry. What did he really know about great writing?
Abruptly she left her thoughts when she realized the teacher had stopped talking. He was looking at her in a way that made her uncomfortable and was standing much closer than before. The classroom clock announced the seconds in a claustrophobic series of clicking and ticking that made Elizabeth feel slightly anxious.
Peering at her, she decided. That is exactly how she would have characterized it. He was peering at her in a way that made her feel as if she was some sort of personal enterprise. Or maybe a good meal. A vision of Christmas dinner flashed into her mind complete with a crisp, white table cloth and a centerpiece carefully decorated with ribbon and ivy and berries. She laughed a little, imagining herself lying across a table set for celebration, and didn’t expect it when the teacher’s mouth closed down over her own.
oh wait, I meant to say "evocative to the point of ..um...nevermind"