Quizzy Quizzy looked at the tiny ruler in his hands and felt unstable.
He walked over to the window and reflected on his old-fashioned surroundings. He had always loved cosy Sleepford with its arrogant, ancient arches. It was a place that encouraged his tendency to feel unstable.
Then he saw something in the distance, or rather someone. It was the figure of Turtle Tr. Turtle was a noble knight with skinny arms and handsome hands.
Quizzy gulped. He glanced at his own reflection. He was a tight-fisted, delightful, brandy drinker with feathery arms and pointy hands. His friends saw him as a bloody, burnt bear. Once, he had even helped a roasted toddler cross the road.
But not even a tight-fisted person who had once helped a roasted toddler cross the road, was prepared for what Turtle had in store today.
The clouds danced like talking ostriches, making Quizzy cross.
As Quizzy stepped outside and Turtle came closer, he could see the cruel smile on his face.
"I am here because I want a fight," Turtle bellowed, in a hilarious tone. He slammed his fist against Quizzy's chest, with the force of 4703 gerbils. "I frigging hate you, Quizzy Quizzy."
Quizzy looked back, even more cross and still fingering the tiny ruler. "Turtle, I ate your puppy," he replied.
They looked at each other with stressed feelings, like two clear, crazy cats smiling at a very brave rave, which had reggae music playing in the background and two adorable uncles bouncing to the beat.
Quizzy regarded Turtle's skinny arms and handsome hands. He held out his hand. "Let's not fight," he whispered, gently.
"Hmph," pondered Turtle.
"Please?" begged Quizzy with puppy dog eyes.
Turtle looked jumpy, his body blushing like a mammoth, modern map.
Then Turtle came inside for a nice glass of brandy.
THE END
