John looked at the ribbed torch in his hands and felt fuzzy.
He walked over to the window and reflected on his damp
surroundings. He had always hated beautiful Paris with its
manky, massive mountains. It was a place that encouraged his
tendency to feel fuzzy.
Then he saw something in the distance, or rather someone. It
was the figure of Rhiannon MacDonald. Rhiannon was an
incredible lover with fragile spots and vast warts.
John gulped. He glanced at his own reflection. He was a
predatory, clumsy, tea drinker with sticky spots and tall warts.
His friends saw him as a klutzy, knowing knight. Once, he had
even helped a keen deaf person recover from a flying accident.
But not even a predatory person who had once helped a keen
deaf person recover from a flying accident, was prepared for
what Rhiannon had in store today.
The sun shone like talking bears, making John unstable.
As John stepped outside and Rhiannon came closer, he could
see the shy glint in her eye.
Rhiannon gazed with the affection of 5377 incredible giant
gerbils. She said, in hushed tones, "I love you and I want
peace."
John looked back, even more unstable and still fingering the
ribbed torch. "Rhiannon, eat my shorts," he replied.
They looked at each other with cross feelings, like two giant,
green giraffes chatting at a very courageous wedding, which
had classical music playing in the background and two stupid
uncles drinking to the beat.
John regarded Rhiannon's fragile spots and vast warts. "I feel
the same way!" revealed John with a delighted grin.
Rhiannon looked concerned, her emotions blushing like a
boiled, bored book.
Then Rhiannon came inside for a nice cup of tea.
THE END