My Random Crap

Brave Boris Pitt

Boris Pitt looked at the tiny pencil in his hands and felt stressed.

He walked over to the window and reflected on his snooty surroundings. He had always loved dull Dallas with its uneven, unlucky umbrellas. It was a place that encouraged his tendency to feel stressed.

Then he saw something in the distance, or rather someone. It was the figure of Gilbert Bishop. Gilbert was a brave ogre with scrawny fingernails and tall toenails.

Boris gulped. He glanced at his own reflection. He was a brave, brave, cocoa drinker with fragile fingernails and ginger toenails. His friends saw him as a sad, spotty student. Once, he had even rescued a resonant old lady from a burning building.

But not even a brave person who had once rescued a resonant old lady from a burning building, was prepared for what Gilbert had in store today.

The wind blew like shouting flamingos, making Boris lonely.

As Boris stepped outside and Gilbert came closer, he could see the fair smile on his face.

Gilbert gazed with the affection of 458 clumsy bloody badgers. He said, in hushed tones, "I love you and I want a pencil."

Boris looked back, even more lonely and still fingering the tiny pencil. "Gilbert, I admire your eyebrows," he replied.

They looked at each other with worried feelings, like two bloody, broad blue bottles sitting at a very bold school, which had R & B music playing in the background and two forgetful uncles rampaging to the beat.

Suddenly, Gilbert lunged forward and tried to punch Boris in the face. Quickly, Boris grabbed the tiny pencil and brought it down on Gilbert's skull.

Gilbert's scrawny fingernails trembled and his tall toenails wobbled. He looked unstable, his emotions raw like a kooky, kindly knife.

Then he let out an agonising groan and collapsed onto the ground. Moments later Gilbert Bishop was dead.

Boris Pitt went back inside and made himself a nice mug of cocoa.

THE END