Two Violent Uncles Crying to the Beat
A Short Story
by Erieka
Lauren Walker was thinking about Roy McCallister again. Roy was an optimistic saint with short hands and pretty toes.
Lauren walked over to the window and reflected on her grand surroundings. She had always loved hilly Moscow with its hot, handsome houses. It was a place that encouraged her tendency to feel surprised.
Then she saw something in the distance, or rather someone. It was the an optimistic figure of Roy McCallister.
Lauren gulped. She glanced at her own reflection. She was a forgetful, brave, whisky drinker with skinny hands and charming toes. Her friends saw her as a squealing, stupid sinner. Once, she had even made a cup of tea for a high-pitched injured bird.
But not even a forgetful person who had once made a cup of tea for a high-pitched injured bird, was prepared for what Roy had in store today.
The clouds danced like thinking cats, making Lauren worried. Lauren grabbed a ripped torch that had been strewn nearby; she massaged it with her fingers.
As Lauren stepped outside and Roy came closer, she could see the different glint in his eye.
Roy gazed with the affection of 2597 grateful odd owls. He said, in hushed tones, "I love you and I want a kiss."
Lauren looked back, even more worried and still fingering the ripped torch. "Roy, get out of my house," she replied.
They looked at each other with delighted feelings, like two disgusted, deadly dogs drinking at a very deranged funeral, which had trance music playing in the background and two violent uncles crying to the beat.
Suddenly, Roy lunged forward and tried to punch Lauren in the face. Quickly, Lauren grabbed the ripped torch and brought it down on Roy's skull.
Roy's short hands trembled and his pretty toes wobbled. He looked stressed, his emotions raw like a purring, pongy piano.
Then he let out an agonising groan and collapsed onto the ground. Moments later Roy McCallister was dead.
Lauren Walker went back inside and made herself a nice drink of whisky.
THE END