The Crunch

    The young boy eyed a bag of chips in the old, rusty, vending machine. He hastily took out several silver quarters out of his pocket and dropped them in, making a clacking sound as they rolled down the small opening. He began to press down the buttons slowly, making sure that he made no mistake, sweat coming down his brow as he pressed his soft skin against the hard plastic. He whispered the code, "D... 7... 3...," then as he lifted his finger off the final number, the coil began to unwound.  

    The anticipation made his heart pound faster and faster, until finally the yellow bag hit the bottom of the vending machine, making a crinkling sound as it hit the surface. He reached his hand in and nabbed them, then running to the writer's meet on the third floor of the school.

    He gasped for air as he sat down upon the uncomfortable plastic chair. Another writer went up to present their award-winning poetry that everyone was dying to hear. As the words emptied from her mouth with poetic ease, the boy opened the bag, making a loud rip as the soon to be best-selling poet read her gripping poem. The blond-haired teacher looked at him sternly, yet he never noticed, none the wiser. He then pulled out a hard, rough chip and chewed a piece off, savouring every part, a crunching sound reverberating through the room as he chewed it, the teacher looked at him again, but he failed to see once more.  

    For many minutes this went, the teacher's mind pondering whether or not to strangle the boy as his loud crunches interrupted the magical ebb and flow of the poet's words. Once all was over, only then had he finished his magnificent chips, only then did the teacher's madness truly end.