Harriet Ramsbottom looked at the crumpled blade in her hands and felt afraid.
She walked over to the window and reflected on her noisy surroundings. She had always loved hilly Sidney with its cooing, cool cliffs. It was a place that encouraged her tendency to feel afraid.
Then she saw something in the distance, or rather someone. It was the figure of Sharon Lakeman. Sharon was a giving saint with spiky fingers and skinny moles.
Harriet gulped. She glanced at her own reflection. She was a daring, witty, brandy drinker with fat fingers and moist moles. Her friends saw her as a deafening, doubtful doctor. Once, she had even helped a kosher chicken cross the road.
But not even a daring person who had once helped a kosher chicken cross the road, was prepared for what Sharon had in store today.
The clouds danced like swimming rabbits, making Harriet stressed.
As Harriet stepped outside and Sharon came closer, she could see the teeny smile on her face.
Sharon gazed with the affection of 7411 callous real rats. She said, in hushed tones, "I love you and I want a resolution."
Harriet looked back, even more stressed and still fingering the crumpled blade. "Sharon, I love you too but...!" she replied and didn't finish.
They looked at each other with irritable feelings, like two many, moaning maggots cooking at a very rude wake, which had orchestral music playing in the background and two modest uncles sleeping to the beat.
Suddenly, Sharon lunged forward and tried to punch Harriet in the face. Quickly, Harriet grabbed the crumpled blade and brought it down on Sharon's skull.
Sharon's spiky fingers trembled and her skinny moles wobbled. She looked sad, her emotions raw like a nervous, nice newspaper.
Then she let out an agonising groan and collapsed onto the ground. Moments later Sharon Lakeman was dead.
Harriet Ramsbottom went back inside and made herself a nice glass of brandy.
THE END
