Daring Joshua Wishmonger
A Short Story
by thehway
Joshua Wishmonger had always loved beautiful Sydney with its leaking, little lakes. It was a place where he felt sparkly.
He was a daring, down to earth, tea drinker with wide lips and curvy fingernails. His friends saw him as an annoying, alive academic. Once, he had even rescued a steep old man from a burning building. That's the sort of man he was.
Joshua walked over to the window and reflected on his wild surroundings. The sun shone like drinking tortoises.
Then he saw something in the distance, or rather someone. It was the figure of Harry Platt. Harry was a modest doctor with chubby lips and charming fingernails.
Joshua gulped. He was not prepared for Harry.
As Joshua stepped outside and Harry came closer, he could see the shiny glint in his eye.
"I am here because I want a pencil," Harry bellowed, in a smelly tone. He slammed his fist against Joshua's chest, with the force of 9546 frogs. "I frigging love you, Joshua Wishmonger."
Joshua looked back, even more sneezy and still fingering the warped blade. "Harry, beam me up Scotty," he replied.
They looked at each other with lonely feelings, like two many, magnificent mice partying at a very cowardly bar mitzvah, which had classical music playing in the background and two incredible uncles chatting to the beat.
Suddenly, Harry lunged forward and tried to punch Joshua in the face. Quickly, Joshua grabbed the warped blade and brought it down on Harry's skull.
Harry's chubby lips trembled and his charming fingernails wobbled. He looked ambivalent, his body raw like a bulbous, boiling book.
Then he let out an agonising groan and collapsed onto the ground. Moments later Harry Platt was dead.
Joshua Wishmonger went back inside and made himself a nice cup of tea.
THE END