Selfish Fred Wishmonger

Fred Wishmonger looked at the squidgy map in his hands and felt stressed.

He walked over to the window and reflected on his grey surroundings. He had always loved backward Cape Town with its odd, oily oceans. It was a place that encouraged his tendency to feel stressed.

Then he saw something in the distance, or rather someone. It was the figure of Jack Hemingway. Jack was an intelligent banker with wide legs and brown lips.

Fred gulped. He glanced at his reflection. He was a selfish, daring, brandy drinker with pointy legs and short lips. His friends saw him as a vast, villainous volcano. Once, he had even made a cup of tea for a joyous baby flamingo.

But not even a selfish person who had once made a cup of tea for a joyous baby flamingo was prepared for what Jack had in-store today.

The rain hammered like rampaging tortoises, making Fred sparkly.

As Fred stepped outside and Jack came closer, he could see the soft glint in his eye.

"I am here because I want justice," Jack bellowed, in a sweet tone. He slammed his fist against Fred's chest, with the force of 9981 elephants. "I frigging love you, Fred Wishmonger."

Fred looked back, even more sparkly and still fingering the squidgy map. "Jack, Abbas Dabba Doo," he replied.

They looked at each other with worried feelings, like two handsome, hot horses jumping at a very controlling engagement party, which had indie music playing in the background and two adorable uncles boating to the beat.

Suddenly, Jack lunged forward and tried to punch Fred in the face. Quickly, Fred grabbed the squidgy map and brought it down on Jack's skull.

Jack's wide legs trembled and his brown lips wobbled. He looked lonely, his body raw like a bumpy, brainy banana.

Then he let out an agonising groan and collapsed onto the ground. Moments later Jack Hemingway was dead.

Fred Wishmonger went back inside and made himself a nice glass of brandy.

THE END