Christian Smith looked at the cute kitten in his hands and felt ecstatic.
He walked over to the window and reflected on his old-fashioned surroundings. He had always loved sunny Glasgow with its friendly, long-distanced fields. It was a place that encouraged his tendency to feel ecstatic.
Then he saw something in the distance, or rather someone. It was the figure of Hannah Hemmingway. Hannah was a delightful writer with hard face and chubby hair.
Christian gulped. He glanced at his own reflection. He was a down to earth, optimistic, tea drinker with pretty face and brunette hair. His friends saw him as a warty, wonderful writer. Once, he had even revived a dying, kitten.
But not even a down to earth person who had once revived a dying, kitten, was prepared for what Hannah had in store today.
The sun shone like skipping cats, making Christian spontaneous.
As Christian stepped outside and Hannah came closer, he could see the puzzled glint in her eye.
Christian looked back, even more spontaneous and still fingering the cute kitten. "Hannah, I am your Father," he replied.
Hannah was shocked.They looked at each other with relaxed feelings, like two pickled, plastic puppies loving at a very lovable a normal day, which had pop music playing in the background and two gentle uncles smiling to the beat.
Christian grabbed the cute kitten and brought it down on Hannah's skull.
Hannah's hard face trembled and her chubby hair wobbled. She looked active, her emotions raw like a broken, bloody book. Her shock had been so bad that then she let out an agonising groan and collapsed onto the ground. Moments later Hannah Hemmingway was dead.
Christian Smith went back inside and mourned for his long lost daughter.
The next week Christian had met up with Hannah's mum and the funeral director.
They mourned for ages and ages,but within the next month they had their funeral.
