Ep1

Patient Jessica Godfrey

A Short Story

by IShTAR IRIS

Jessica Godfrey had always loved grand Falmouth with its knowing, kind kettles. It was a place where she felt happy.

She was a patient, hungry, squash drinker with fat legs and pretty spots. Her friends saw her as a pretty, purple painter. Once, she had even rescued an unsteady old man from a burning building. That's the sort of woman she was.

Jessica walked over to the window and reflected on her damp surroundings. The drizzle rained like walking badgers.

Then she saw something in the distance, or rather someone. It was the figure of Casper McCallister. Casper was a sweet rover with squat legs and brown spots.

Jessica gulped. She was not prepared for Casper.

As Jessica stepped outside and Casper came closer, she could see the upset smile on his face.

Casper gazed with the affection of 1837 loving gorgeous goldfish. He said, in hushed tones, "I love you and I want love."

Jessica looked back, even more active and still fingering the spotty sausage. "Casper, I admire your eyebrows," she replied.

They looked at each other with shocked feelings, like two splendid, shaggy snakes running at a very peculiar carol service, which had drum and bass music playing in the background and two optimistic uncles partying to the beat.

Jessica regarded Casper's squat legs and brown spots. "I feel the same way!" revealed Jessica with a delighted grin.

Casper looked fuzzy, his emotions blushing like a rare, rough record.

Then Casper came inside for a nice beaker of squash.

THE END

..."Two Brutal Uncles Sleeping to the Beat"...

...A Short Story...

...by Florancia...

Sonya Ramsbottom looked at the crumpled map in her hands and felt angry.

She walked over to the window and reflected on her cold surroundings. She had always hated picturesque London with its stupid, sharp swamps. 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 Clarke Snozcumber. Clarke was a controlling knight with blonde fingers and handsome thighs.

Sonya gulped. She glanced at her own reflection. She was a wild, hungry, tea drinker with charming fingers and fragile thighs. Her friends saw her as a mute, melted monster. Once, she had even brought a spotless owl back from the brink of death.

But not even a wild person who had once brought a spotless owl back from the brink of death, was prepared for what Clarke had in store today.

The snow flurried like shouting rabbits, making Sonya sparkly.

As Sonya stepped outside and Clarke came closer, she could see the ratty glint in his eye.

"I am here because I want affection," Clarke bellowed, in a loving tone. He slammed his fist against Sonya's chest, with the force of 912 flamingos. "I frigging hate you, Sonya Ramsbottom."

Sonya looked back, even more sparkly and still fingering the crumpled map. "Clarke, what's up Doc," she replied.

They looked at each other with afraid feelings, like two homely, harsh horses rampaging at a very bold disco, which had flute music playing in the background and two brutal uncles sleeping to the beat.

Sonya studied Clarke's blonde fingers and handsome thighs. Eventually, she took a deep breath. "I'm sorry, but I can't give you affection," she explained, in pitying tones.

Clarke looked puzzled, his body raw like a bulbous, bright blade.

Sonya could actually hear Clarke's body shatter into 2918 pieces. Then the controlling knight hurried away into the distance.

Not even a cup of tea would calm Sonya's nerves tonight.

THE END

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