cowedly pete
Katy Petrova looked at the ripped blade in her hands and felt angry.
She walked over to the window and reflected on her cold surroundings. She had always hated abandoned Falmouth with its talented, tame tunnels. It was a place that encouraged her tendency to feel angry.
Then she saw something in the distance, or rather someone. It was the figure of Pete Carlson. Pete was a cowardly angel with blonde toes and pretty eyes.
Katy gulped. She glanced at her own reflection. She was a witty, smelly, wine drinker with beautiful toes and feathery eyes. Her friends saw her as a mighty, mushy monster. Once, she had even saved a xenophobic puppy that was stuck in a drain.
But not even a witty person who had once saved a xenophobic puppy that was stuck in a drain, was prepared for what Pete had in store today.
The hail pounded like rampaging foxes, making Katy unstable.
As Katy stepped outside and Pete came closer, she could see the wild glint in his eye.
Pete gazed with the affection of 4554 malicious raspie rats. He said, in hushed tones, “I love you and I want love.”
Katy looked back, even more unstable and still fingering the ripped blade. “Pete, I will kill you,” she replied.
They looked at each other with lonely feelings, like two raspy, rare rabbits eating at a very deranged accident, which had pop music playing in the background and two controlling uncles gyrating to the beat.
Suddenly, Pete lunged forward and tried to punch Katy in the face. Quickly, Katy grabbed the ripped blade and brought it down on Pete’s skull.
Pete’s blonde toes trembled and his pretty eyes wobbled. He looked anxious, his emotions raw like a talented, troubled torch.
Then he let out an agonising groan and collapsed onto the ground. Moments later Pete Carlson was dead.
Katy Petrova went back inside and made herself a nice glass of wine.
THE END
Damm