Two Spiteful Uncles Skipping to the Beat
A Short Story
by Goldin
Chan glanced at the magic knife in her hands and felt joy.

She strolled over to the window and reflected on her captivating surroundings. She had always adored warm Japan with its blue, broken beach. It was a place that encouraged her tendency to feel happy.

Then she saw something in the distance, or rather someone. It was the figure of Brandon. Brandon was an esteemed do-gooder with "brunette fingers" and hideously unappealing eyes.

Chan gulped. She glanced at her reflection. She was a vile, virtuous, whiskey drinker with slimy fingers and brunette eyes. Her friends saw her as an alive, annoying angel. Once, she even jumped into a river and rescued a dilapidated old lady.

But not even a vile person who had once jumped into a river and saved a ratty old lady was prepared for what Brandon had in-store today.

The hail pounded like chatting aardvarks, making Chan ecstatic.

As Chan stepped outside and Brandon came closer, she could sense the rare smile on her face.

Brandon gazed with the affection of 4086 gracious crooked cats. She said, in hushed tones, "I love you and I want To flip him."

Chan looked back, even more, ecstatic and still fingering the magic knife. "Brandon, I hate you," she replied.

They looked at each other with calm emotions, like two raw, rainy rabbits jumping at a very smelly birthday party, with orchestral music playing in the background and two spiteful uncles bouncing to the beat.

Chan studied Brandon's brunette fingers and ugly eyes. Eventually, she took a deep breath. "I'm sorry," began Chan in apologetic tones, "but I don't feel the same way, and I never will. I don't love you, Brandon."

Brandon looked fiddled with fear and distraught, her emotions bare like a teeny-tiny, thirsty torch.

Chan could hear Brandon's emotions shatter into 122 pieces. Then the admirable do-gooder hustled away into the distance.

Not even a glass of whiskey would calm Chan's nerves tonight.

THE END