The Ribbed Kettle - a short story by Amy Hannah Snozcumber looked at the ribbed kettle in her hands and

felt confident. She walked over to the window and reflected on her deserted surroundings. She ha d always loved wild Cambridge with its strange, sparkling swamps. It was a place that encouraged her tendency to feel confident. Then she saw something in the distance, or rather someone. It was the figure of David Thornhill. David was a thoughtless monster with brown spots and handsome l egs. Hannah gulped. She glanced at her own reflection. She was a stupid, hilarious, b randy drinker with red spots and fragile legs. Her friends saw her as a glorious , grubby gamer. Once, she had even brought a warm old man back from the brink of death. But not even a stupid person who had once brought a warm old man back from the b rink of death, was prepared for what David had in store today. The sun shone like running humming birds, making Hannah sleepy. As Hannah stepped outside and David came closer, she could see the scrawny glint in his eye. David gazed with the affection of 5445 generous tricky toads. He said, in hushed tones, "I love you and I want revenge." Hannah looked back, even more sleepy and still fingering the ribbed kettle. "Dav id, oh my God they killed Kenny," she replied. They looked at each other with afraid feelings, like two massive, muddy mice bou ncing at a very intuitive Valentine's meal, which had trance music playing in th e background and two popular uncles jumping to the beat. Suddenly, David lunged forward and tried to punch Hannah in the face. Quickly, H annah grabbed the ribbed kettle and brought it down on David's skull. David's brown spots trembled and his handsome legs wobbled. He looked lonely, hi s emotions raw like a thoughtless, teeny torch. Then he let out an agonising groan and collapsed onto the ground. Moments later David Thornhill was dead. Hannah Snozcumber went back inside and made herself a nice glass of brandy. THE END