The Damp Gun

A Short Story
by Mr Pseudonym

Flora Butterscotch looked at the damp gun in her hands and felt delighted.

She walked over to the window and reflected on her beautiful surroundings. She had
always loved magical London with its tame, tasteless tunnels. It was a place that
encouraged her tendency to feel delighted.

Then she saw something in the distance, or rather someone. It was the figure of Bob
Thomas. Bob was a charming animal with short toes and tall feet.

Flora gulped. She glanced at her own reflection. She was a loving, brutal, beer
drinker with hairy toes and scrawny feet. Her friends saw her as a grieving, grisly
god. Once, she had even saved a long chicken that was stuck in a drain.

But not even a loving person who had once saved a long chicken that was stuck in a
drain, was prepared for what Bob had in store today.

The sleet rained like hopping pigeons, making Flora happy.

As Flora stepped outside and Bob came closer, she could see the cold smile on his
face.

"Look Flora," growled Bob, with an arrogant glare that reminded Flora of charming
flamingos. "It's not that I don't love you, but I want a resolution. You owe me
3628 dollars."

Flora looked back, even more happy and still fingering the damp gun. "Bob, I admire
your eyebrows," she replied.

They looked at each other with surprised feelings, like two knowledgeable, knotty
kittens boating at a very patient Valentine's meal, which had trance music playing
in the background and two gracious uncles running to the beat.

Flora regarded Bob's short toes and tall feet. "I don't have the funds ..." she
lied.

Bob glared. "Do you want me to shove that damp gun where the sun don't shine?"

Flora promptly remembered her loving and brutal values. "Actually, I do have the
funds," she admitted. She reached into her pockets. "Here's what I owe you."

Bob looked afraid, his wallet blushing like a sore, smelly sandwich.

Then Bob came inside for a nice drink of beer.

THE END