William Donaldson looked at the ripped hat in his hands and felt active.
He walked over to the window and reflected on his cosy surroundings. He had always loved deserted Sydney with its hard, hungry hills. It was a place that encouraged his tendency to feel active.
Then he saw something in the distance, or rather someone. It was the figure of Robert Parker. Robert was a clever author with wide fingernails and sticky fingers.
William gulped. He glanced at his own reflection. He was a patient, snotty, whiskey drinker with red fingernails and tall fingers. His friends saw him as a doubtful, diced deity. Once, he had even brought a friendly deaf person back from the brink of death.
But not even a patient person who had once brought a friendly deaf person back from the brink of death, was prepared for what Robert had in store today.
The sleet rained like jumping ostriches, making William barmy.
As William stepped outside and Robert came closer, he could see the soft smile on his face.
"I am here because I want a wifi code," Robert bellowed, in a deranged tone. He slammed his fist against William's chest, with the force of 6377 goldfish. "I frigging love you, William Donaldson."
William looked back, even more barmy and still fingering the ripped hat. "Robert, exterminate," he replied.
They looked at each other with puzzled feelings, like two friendly, fluttering frogs bouncing at a very ruthless rave, which had drum and bass music playing in the background and two noble uncles laughing to the beat.
Suddenly, Robert lunged forward and tried to punch William in the face. Quickly, William grabbed the ripped hat and brought it down on Robert's skull.
Robert's wide fingernails trembled and his sticky fingers wobbled. He looked fuzzy, his body raw like a spewmungous, stingy sandwich.
Then he let out an agonising groan and collapsed onto the ground. Moments later Robert Parker was dead.
William Donaldson went back inside and made himself a nice glass of whiskey.
THE END
