This was my short story homework this week. I am dying, really.

I am awaiting what Ms. Inclan thinks of my story, and how it doesn't relate to anything at all.
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Look on the bright side of life.
Being “deathly afraid” (being deathly afraid of death made me laugh)
If you don’t have anything nice to say, don’t say anything at all. (this doesn’t happen, here)
Everything happens for a reason. (I don’t know, does it?)
Follow your dreams, everything will come true if you’re patient enough.
Looks don’t matter. (well…)
Money isn’t everything.
Be yourself, and you won’t have any trouble finding friends.
Respect your elders. (respecting people based solely on what school they went to)
“For you see,” (I thought whenever people used this it was really corny, and of course, it’s corny as hell here too)
Anything having to do with moonlight.
Bringing in a deus ex machina

George was sitting there looking at the warts on his fingers trying to think of something to write. The doctor had put a brown medicine on his fingertips that made them sting wickedly, but strangely enough, it aroused him. He tapped on the desk with his fingers, and as the pain spread through his hand, he finally got an idea. He would go and ask his professor for help.
His professor, as luck would have it, was Ms. Jessica Barksdale Inclan, author of several novels and the recipient of a Masters degree in writing from San Francisco State University. George really revered his professor, thinking about all the people he admired who had also studied there. She gave positive sound advice, and the only thing that really bothered her was lack of effort. Surely she would help him get on track with his story.
Before going out, however, he looked in the mirror and felt as though his appearance would disgust Ms. Inclan. For you see, George was a three foot tall Japanese lizard of a man. His skin was incredibly dry, and it would crust over and shed every few hours. He had also gotten eyebrow surgery the other day, which drained so much blood that it gave him two black eyes. That coupled with the warts on his fingers which appeared to be bursting made George very afraid of going out. But then he realized that looks really shouldn’t matter, especially not to writers, so he put on a hat and coat and drove over to her house.
Ms. Inclan had never seen George before, and of course, had never given him her address. He had found it by writing to her agent, Sally Sitwell, and telling her that he was a very important movie executive looking for writers to depict bay area citizens in ways he had never seen. Miss Sitwell did not even think twice about this, as her philosophy in life was “money is everything”.
George was sure that his appearance would at least shock Ms. Inclan, so as he neared her house, he decided to park at least a block away as to not arouse any suspicion. He crept slowly toward her house, and peered into the open window that lay in front of him. It was dark out, so he could look inside without being seen himself. Ms. Inclan was at her computer, grading the homework from the short story class that George himself was a part of. He suddenly realized that he would probably get a zero for the week if he did not do something fast, so he picked up a rock and threw it through her window.
“Jesus!” she shrieked. She quickly turned her head toward the darkness outside, and looked for what had caused her window to break. She saw the glass all over the floor, and started to panic. The thing George didn’t know was that Ms. Inclan was deathly afraid of serial killers, and tonight she was home entirely by herself. This was a rare occurrence for her, but that night her husband had decided to take the kids to a baseball game, and she had some work she needed to finish. Ironically, as she was running to her room to dial 911, she frantically pulled the keyboard from the computer and hurled it outside hoping to injure whoever may had been waiting for her.
George was puzzled by this, and slowly made his way up to the broken window. He didn’t understand why his professor would run away from him like that, and realized instantly that it was probably his grotesque appearance. The thought of being so hideous that someone would shriek and hurl something at him enraged him. He had been taught his entire life that looks weren’t everything, and suddenly someone who he thought would accept him for who he was had immediately rejected him. He then noticed the copy of Grendel that laid on the coffee table which enraged him even more. “She knew I was coming!” he thought, “and she had the nerve to insult me with this fucking book!”
At that moment, George howled at the sky and burst through the window, determined to find Jessica Inclan and confront her about this preposterous affair. Ms. Inclan, on the other hand, was determined to call the police and alert them of the terror that awaited her. Unfortunately for her, the only phone in the house was back in the living room, which brought her to tears. She was now crouched beside her nightstand, holding a blow-dryer and a flashlight in case anyone would walk through the door. She started to mutter incomprehensible vulgarities, and wondered what she had done to deserve this.
As George crossed the living room, however, he stopped and saw what was on the computer screen. Mara Moreno had written a story about socks, and suddenly he felt calm. Unbeknownst to any of his classmates, George had been secretly in love with Mara ever since she introduced herself the first week of class. He forgot all about Ms. Inclan insulting him and sat down to read Mara’s story. He started to cry at how good it was, and how he really wished to get a new pair of socks but was unable to afford them. She had made the socks seem to beautiful to him, and it made him sullen as to how disgusting he looked himself. He then started to howl again, wailing “Looks aren’t everything! Looks aren’t everything!”
When Ms. Inclan heard this terrifying noise coming from her living room, she began to sob uncontrollably, thinking for sure that she was going to die.