My great random story.

Bob Pigeon had always loved deprived Plymouth with its immense, important igloos. It was a place where he felt irritable.

He was an optimistic, caring, cocoa drinker with slimy ankles and hairy feet. His friends saw him as a bulbous, breezy brute. Once, he had even jumped into a river and saved a muddy chicken. That’s the sort of man he was.

Bob walked over to the window and reflected on his snooty surroundings. The snow flurried like shouting puppies.

Then he saw something in the distance, or rather someone. It was the figure of David Noris. David was an admirable friend with fragile ankles and chubby feet.

Bob gulped. He was not prepared for David.

As Bob stepped outside and David came closer, he could see the mammoth glint in his eye.

David gazed with the affection of 1586 creepy horrible horses. He said, in hushed tones, “I love you and I want revenge.”

Bob looked back, even more stressed and still fingering the warped newspaper. “David, let’s get married,” he replied.

They looked at each other with cross feelings, like two kind, keen kittens eating at a very clever carol service, which had flute music playing in the background and two thoughtful uncles rampaging to the beat.

Bob studied David’s fragile ankles and chubby feet. Eventually, he took a deep breath. “I’m sorry,” began Bob in apologetic tones, “but I don’t feel the same way, and I never will. I just don’t love you David.”

David looked calm, his emotions raw like a thoughtless, tight torch.

Bob could actually hear David’s emotions shatter into 1677 pieces. Then the admirable friend hurried away into the distance.

Not even a mug of cocoa would calm Bob’s nerves tonight.

THE END