Her name was Heather. With a name like that you might assume that she was some kind of goddess. She was: the goddess of nasty.

        It all started in sixth grade when she first sat her disgusting carcass down next to me in third period sci ence class. I nearly passed out from asphyxiation when she opened her big mouth to introduce herself. It was like someone had opened the gate to the swamp of Hell. "Hi, my name is Heather and I am a disgusting freak," she should have said. And her face, my God, her face. It was as if someone had left the decaying corpse of a pig out in the intense sun for a week. I would have rather sat next to the pig.

        I totally ignored her as the years went by; her growing larger and larger around that equator she calls her waist. If they made pants for hippopotami she could surely fit snugly into them, as well as possibly being accepted as one of their own.

        Then one day in mid-eighth grade she showed up on my doorstep. Instantly the stench of sewage and dead rottin g fish spewed most copiously from the window into my living room. I thought a toilet had backed up or something; but it was just slimy old Heather. But it was funny, she never rang the doorbell or anything. Maybe she was afraid, maybe she was just plain stupid. I would suspect the latter. We never answered the door and she left about ten minutes later.

        She didn't come to the door again; and if she had our carbon monoxide detector would have probably picked up her signals. However, one morning I awoke from a most joyous night of slumber and she was there: staring in through my bedroom window. The beautiful fiery sunset was destroyed by a ratty-haired demon.

        That afternoon after school I looked her address up in the directory and was shocked that it wasn't the garbage dump. I hopped on my bike and rode down to her house which was a fifteen minute ride that seemed like an eternity. I arrived at her place and ran up to the door, nearly out of breath. I rang the bell and waited - the freak answered th e door. So I said to her, "if I catch you at my house EVER again, I am going to call the cops. You should be glad that I decided not to do that now." 'Juvie' would have been no place for her; she would probably have eaten all the 'inmates'. Then her mo t her came to the door and asked me what was going on, and I explained the entire story to her. And then the freak said something that nearly made me want to vomit in terror: she referred to me as her "boyfriend." This was just too much, so I said crossly, "Listen you, you, whatever you are: stay away from my house! I am NOT your boyfriend. Get away from me!" And so I ran, as if I had to clear the area of an armed grenade.

        After telling her off I never saw that foul creature again. I'm sure that if I did see her now, though, I could probably pick her out from a crowd. She would be the one leaving a trail of slimy green ooze. She was a monster and will always be a monster.