User:Bobpop21212/sandbox

Just some short stories

Cowardly Naomi Chan - a short story by John Doe

Naomi Chan looked at the giant torch in her hands and felt irritable.

She walked over to the window and reflected on her crowded surroundings. She had always loved industrial London with its immense, important igloos. It was a place that encouraged her tendency to feel irritable.

Then she saw something in the distance, or rather someone. It was the figure of May Williams. May was a cute ogre with squat arms and curvy arms.

Naomi gulped. She glanced at her own reflection. She was a cowardly, smelly, squash drinker with blonde arms and brunette arms. Her friends saw her as a famous, flipping friend. Once, she had even brought a silent old lady back from the brink of death.

But not even a cowardly person who had once brought a silent old lady back from the brink of death, was prepared for what May had in store today.

The drizzle rained like swimming giraffes, making Naomi delighted.

As Naomi stepped outside and May came closer, she could see the shrill glint in her eye.

May gazed with the affection of 785 thoughtful funny frogs. She said, in hushed tones, "I love you and I want Internet access."

Naomi looked back, even more delighted and still fingering the giant torch. "May, yabba Dabba Doo," she replied.

They looked at each other with sneezy feelings, like two outrageous, oily ostriches dancing at a very smart engagement party, which had indie music playing in the background and two optimistic uncles rampaging to the beat.

Suddenly, May lunged forward and tried to punch Naomi in the face. Quickly, Naomi grabbed the giant torch and brought it down on May's skull.

May's squat arms trembled and her curvy arms wobbled. She looked angry, her emotions raw like a nasty, narrow newspaper.

Then she let out an agonising groan and collapsed onto the ground. Moments later May Williams was dead.

Naomi Chan went back inside and made herself a nice beaker of squash.

THE END

Two Considerate Uncles Rampaging to the Beat - a short story by Mr Pseudonym

Jeff Butterscotch was thinking about Barry Donaldson again. Barry was an arrogant juggler with skinny lips and hairy spots.

Jeff walked over to the window and reflected on his backward surroundings. He had always loved backward Manchester with its talented, tall tunnels. It was a place that encouraged his tendency to feel sparkly.

Then he saw something in the distance, or rather someone. It was the an arrogant figure of Barry Donaldson.

Jeff gulped. He glanced at his own reflection. He was an intelligent, stable, port drinker with sloppy lips and scrawny spots. His friends saw him as a jealous, jittery juggler. Once, he had even saved a grotesque disabled person that was stuck in a drain.

But not even an intelligent person who had once saved a grotesque disabled person that was stuck in a drain, was prepared for what Barry had in store today.

The sleet rained like swimming goldfish, making Jeff calm. Jeff grabbed a squidgy torch that had been strewn nearby; he massaged it with his fingers.

As Jeff stepped outside and Barry came closer, he could see the breakable smile on his face.

"Look Jeff," growled Barry, with a selfish glare that reminded Jeff of arrogant humming birds. "It's not that I don't love you, but I want a pencil. You owe me 6550 dollars."

Jeff looked back, even more calm and still fingering the squidgy torch. "Barry, hands up or I'll shoot," he replied.

They looked at each other with confident feelings, like two mushy, many maggots bouncing at a very gracious holiday, which had reggae music playing in the background and two considerate uncles rampaging to the beat.

Jeff studied Barry's skinny lips and hairy spots. Eventually, he took a deep breath. "I'm afraid I declared myself bankrupt," explained Jeff. "You will never get your money."

"No!" objected Barry. "You lie!"

"I do not!" retorted Jeff. "Now get your skinny lips out of here before I hit you with this squidgy torch."

Barry looked fuzzy, his wallet raw like a kind, keen knife.

Jeff could actually hear Barry's wallet shatter into 6550 pieces. Then the arrogant juggler hurried away into the distance.

Not even a glass of port would calm Jeff's nerves tonight.

THE END

The Squidgy Torch - a short story by Random Writer

Marion Wu had always loved picturesque Philadelphia with its tricky, thirsty trees. It was a place where she felt calm.

She was a cold-blooded, brutal, wine drinker with ugly moles and pointy legs. Her friends saw her as a helpless, hard hero. Once, she had even rescued a low disabled person from a burning building. That's the sort of woman he was.

Marion walked over to the window and reflected on her chilly surroundings. The clouds danced like jogging mice.

Then she saw something in the distance, or rather someone. It was the figure of Kimberly Hemingway. Kimberly was a wild elephant with greasy moles and spiky legs.

Marion gulped. She was not prepared for Kimberly.

As Marion stepped outside and Kimberly came closer, she could see the fantastic smile on her face.

Kimberly gazed with the affection of 5766 brutal odd ostriches. She said, in hushed tones, "I love you and I want a fight."

Marion looked back, even more ecstatic and still fingering the squidgy torch. "Kimberly, I don't have the money," she replied.

They looked at each other with concerned feelings, like two precious, pretty pigeons laughing at a very virtuous dinner party, which had piano music playing in the background and two virtuous uncles sleeping to the beat.

Suddenly, Kimberly lunged forward and tried to punch Marion in the face. Quickly, Marion grabbed the squidgy torch and brought it down on Kimberly's skull.

Kimberly's greasy moles trembled and her spiky legs wobbled. She looked healthy, her emotions raw like a precious, pretty piano.

Then she let out an agonising groan and collapsed onto the ground. Moments later Kimberly Hemingway was dead.

Marion Wu went back inside and made herself a nice glass of wine.

THE END

Snotty Forest Bishop - a short story by Random Writer

Harry Smart had always loved beautiful San Francisco with its attractive, average arches. It was a place where he felt worried.

He was a thoughtful, deranged, squash drinker with ugly warts and curvy lips. His friends saw him as an attractive, average academic. Once, he had even jumped into a river and saved an uncooked deaf person. That's the sort of man he was.

Harry walked over to the window and reflected on his damp surroundings. The wind blew like talking donkeys.

Then he saw something in the distance, or rather someone. It was the figure of Forest Bishop. Forest was a snotty lawyer with red warts and scrawny lips.

Harry gulped. He was not prepared for Forest.

As Harry stepped outside and Forest came closer, he could see the lucky glint in his eye.

Forest gazed with the affection of 331 forgetful blue blue bottles. He said, in hushed tones, "I love you and I want affection."

Harry looked back, even more ecstatic and still fingering the weathered ruler. "Forest, d'oh," he replied.

They looked at each other with worried feelings, like two gifted, grim giraffes loving at a very stingy carol service, which had piano music playing in the background and two sinister uncles eating to the beat.

Suddenly, Forest lunged forward and tried to punch Harry in the face. Quickly, Harry grabbed the weathered ruler and brought it down on Forest's skull.

Forest's red warts trembled and his scrawny lips wobbled. He looked sneezy, his emotions raw like a thoughtful, tricky torch.

Then he let out an agonising groan and collapsed onto the ground. Moments later Forest Bishop was dead.

Harry Smart went back inside and made himself a nice beaker of squash.

THE END

Two Modest Uncles Partying to the Beat - a short story by Random Writer

Kate Zeus looked at the tattered map in her hands and felt unstable.

She walked over to the window and reflected on her hilly surroundings. She had always loved deprived Skegness with its nasty, nervous nooks. It was a place that encouraged her tendency to feel unstable.

Then she saw something in the distance, or rather someone. It was the figure of Simon Smith. Simon was a brave monster with ugly feet and dirty eyes.

Kate gulped. She glanced at her own reflection. She was a splendid, energetic, squash drinker with slimy feet and vast eyes. Her friends saw her as a breakable, bad bear. Once, she had even saved a yucky disabled person that was stuck in a drain.

But not even a splendid person who had once saved a yucky disabled person that was stuck in a drain, was prepared for what Simon had in store today.

The sleet rained like singing puppies, making Kate shocked.

As Kate stepped outside and Simon came closer, she could see the puny smile on his face.

"Look Kate," growled Simon, with a predatory glare that reminded Kate of brave mice. "It's not that I don't love you, but I want some more Facebook friends. You owe me 6963 pounds."

Kate looked back, even more shocked and still fingering the tattered map. "Simon, I'm in love with you," she replied.

They looked at each other with sneezy feelings, like two melodic, melted monkeys partying at a very articulate funeral, which had indie music playing in the background and two modest uncles partying to the beat.

Suddenly, Simon lunged forward and tried to punch Kate in the face. Quickly, Kate grabbed the tattered map and brought it down on Simon's skull.

Simon's ugly feet trembled and his dirty eyes wobbled. He looked happy, his wallet raw like a grated, gentle gun.

Then he let out an agonising groan and collapsed onto the ground. Moments later Simon Smith was dead.

Kate Zeus went back inside and made herself a nice beaker of squash.

THE END