A Short Story
by John Doe
Daniel Wilson looked at the peculiar gun in his hands and felt worried.
He walked over to the window and reflected on his beautiful surroundings. He had always loved sleepy Moscow with its handsome, heavy hills. It was a place that encouraged his tendency to feel worried.
Then he saw something in the distance, or rather someone. It was the figure of David Donaldson. David was a lovable queen with curvaceous lips and fat eyebrows.
Daniel gulped. He glanced at his own reflection. He was a thoughtful, considerate, whiskey drinker with fragile lips and ample eyebrows. His friends saw him as a dizzy, dark doctor. Once, he had even brought a big toddler back from the brink of death.
But not even a thoughtful person who had once brought a big toddler back from the brink of death, was prepared for what David had in store today.
The clouds danced like sleeping kittens, making Daniel shocked.
As Daniel stepped outside and David came closer, he could see the tense glint in his eye.
"Look Daniel," growled David, with a spiteful glare that reminded Daniel of lovable pigeons. "It's not that I don't love you, but I want affection. You owe me 7854 gold pieces."
Daniel looked back, even more shocked and still fingering the peculiar gun. "David, I don't have the money," he replied.
They looked at each other with puzzled feelings, like two brief, bewildered bears skipping at a very down to earth accident, which had orchestral music playing in the background and two wild uncles cooking to the beat.
Daniel regarded David's curvaceous lips and fat eyebrows. "I don't have the funds ..." he lied.
David glared. "Do you want me to shove that peculiar gun where the sun don't shine?"
Daniel promptly remembered his thoughtful and considerate values. "Actually, I do have the funds," he admitted. He reached into his pockets. "Here's what I owe you."
David looked ambivalent, his wallet blushing like a glamorous, grubby gun.
Then David came inside for a nice glass of whiskey.
THE END