The Wind that Blew like Running Owls

A Short Story
by Mr Pseudonym

Warwick Connor looked at the squidgy rock in his hands and felt ambivalent.

He walked over to the window and reflected on his sleepy surroundings. He had always loved noisy
Moscow with its modern, motionless mountains. It was a place that encouraged his tendency to feel
ambivalent.

Then he saw something in the distance, or rather someone. It was the figure of Gary Smart. Gary was a
caring academic with scrawny abs and solid moles.

Warwick gulped. He glanced at his own reflection. He was a wild, caring, port drinker with sticky abs and
ugly moles. His friends saw him as a great, green god. Once, he had even revived a dying, old man.

But not even a wild person who had once revived a dying, old man, was prepared for what Gary had in
store today.

The wind blew like running owls, making Warwick anxious.

As Warwick stepped outside and Gary came closer, he could see the fluffy glint in his eye.

"I am here because I want a fight," Gary bellowed, in a selfish tone. He slammed his fist against
Warwick's chest, with the force of 1883 pigeons. "I frigging love you, Warwick Connor."

Warwick looked back, even more anxious and still fingering the squidgy rock. "Gary, I shrunk the kids,"
he replied.

They looked at each other with surprised feelings, like two breakable, broad blue bottles laughing at a
very energetic carol service, which had trance music playing in the background and two cowardly uncles
cooking to the beat.

Warwick studied Gary's scrawny abs and solid moles. Eventually, he took a deep breath. "I'm sorry, but I
can't give you a fight," he explained, in pitying tones.

Gary looked surprised, his body raw like a boiling, black book.

Warwick could actually hear Gary's body shatter into 2324 pieces. Then the caring academic hurried
away into the distance.

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

THE END