The Stripy Teapot
A Short Story
by John Doe
Forest Clifford looked at the stripy teapot in his hands and felt stable.
He walked over to the window and reflected on his industrial surroundings. He had always loved creepy Berlin with its zany, zealous zoos. It was a place that encouraged his tendency to feel stable.
Then he saw something in the distance, or rather someone. It was the figure of Tony Blunder. Tony was a brutal do gooder with feathery fingers and blonde spots.
Forest gulped. He glanced at his own reflection. He was a spiteful, brave, cocoa drinker with grubby fingers and scrawny spots. His friends saw him as a large, leaking lawyer. Once, he had even helped a calm deaf person cross the road.
But not even a spiteful person who had once helped a calm deaf person cross the road, was prepared for what Tony had in store today.
The snow flurried like cooking cats, making Forest puzzled.
As Forest stepped outside and Tony came closer, he could see the freezing glint in his eye.
"Look Forest," growled Tony, with a smart glare that reminded Forest of brutal maggots. "It's not that I don't love you, but I want a resolution. You owe me 6600 pounds."
Forest looked back, even more puzzled and still fingering the stripy teapot. "Tony, Is that real leather," he replied.
They looked at each other with concerned feelings, like two mutated, motionless monkeys smiling at a very grateful Valentine's meal, which had piano music playing in the background and two patient uncles swimming to the beat.
Suddenly, Tony lunged forward and tried to punch Forest in the face. Quickly, Forest grabbed the stripy teapot and brought it down on Tony's skull.
Tony's feathery fingers trembled and his blonde spots wobbled. He looked fuzzy, his wallet raw like a relieved, resonant record.
Then he let out an agonising groan and collapsed onto the ground. Moments later Tony Blunder was dead.
Forest Clifford went back inside and made himself a nice mug of cocoa.
THE END