The Spotty Ruler

Tristan Trescothik looked at the spotty ruler in his hands and felt afraid.

He walked over to the window and reflected on his creepy surroundings. He had always hated
backward Sleepford with its immense, important igloos. It was a place that encouraged his
tendency to feel afraid.

Then he saw something in the distance, or rather someone. It was the figure of Simon Blunder.
Simon was a considerate author with sloppy moles and pointy warts.

Tristan gulped. He glanced at his own reflection. He was a noble, scheming, brandy drinker with
sticky moles and scrawny warts. His friends saw him as a deafening, distinct dolphin. Once, he had
even jumped into a river and saved an unsightly old lady.

But not even a noble person who had once jumped into a river and saved an unsightly old lady,
was prepared for what Simon had in store today.

The hail pounded like dancing guppies, making Tristan calm.

As Tristan stepped outside and Simon came closer, he could see the vigorous smile on his face.

Simon gazed with the affection of 1992 funny grisly goldfish. He said, in hushed tones, "I love you
and I want love."

Tristan looked back, even more calm and still fingering the spotty ruler. "Simon, I'm in love with
you," he replied.
They looked at each other with puzzled feelings, like two tart, terrible tortoises swimming at a very
courageous snow storm, which had trance music playing in the background and two adorable
uncles eating to the beat.

Suddenly, Simon lunged forward and tried to punch Tristan in the face. Quickly, Tristan grabbed
the spotty ruler and brought it down on Simon's skull.

Simon's sloppy moles trembled and his pointy warts wobbled. He looked jumpy, his emotions raw
like a tired, troubled torch.

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

Tristan Trescothik went back inside and made himself a nice glass of brandy.

THE END