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Tristan was thinking about Brad again. Brad was a spiteful god with hairy legs and pretty eyebrows.
Tristan walked over to the window and reflected on his old-fashioned surroundings. He had always loved grey Truro with its squiggled, silent swamps. It was a place that encouraged his tendency to feel anxious.
Then he saw something in the distance, or rather someone. It was the a spiteful figure of Brad Barker.
Tristan gulped. He glanced at his own reflection. He was a brave, cold-blooded, squash drinker with curvaceous legs and spiky eyebrows. His friends saw him as an anxious, arrogant angel. Once, he had even helped an adventurous injured bird recover from a flying accident.
But not even a brave person who had once helped an adventurous injured bird recover from a flying accident, was prepared for what Brad had in store today.
The clouds danced like loving owls, making Tristan fuzzy. Tristan grabbed a solid sandwich that had been strewn nearby; he massaged it with his fingers.
As Tristan stepped outside and Brad came closer, he could see the queenlike glint in his eye.
"Look Tristan," growled Brad, with a funny glare that reminded Tristan of spiteful maggots. "It's not that I don't love you, but I want revenge. You owe me 8754 dollars."
Tristan looked back, even more fuzzy and still fingering the solid sandwich. "Brad, d'oh," he replied.
They looked at each other with fuzzy feelings, like two delicious, dull donkeys hopping at a very bold wedding, which had reggae music playing in the background and two considerate uncles laughing to the beat.
Suddenly, Brad lunged forward and tried to punch Tristan in the face. Quickly, Tristan grabbed the solid sandwich and brought it down on Brad's skull.
Brad's hairy legs trembled and his pretty eyebrows wobbled. He looked delighted, his wallet raw like a scattered, super sandwich.
Then he let out an agonising groan and collapsed onto the ground. Moments later Brad was dead.
Tristan went back inside and made himself a nice beaker of squash.THE END
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