Chloe Snozcumber looked at the bendy map in her hands and felt

surprised.

She walked over to the window and reflected on her grey

surroundings. She had always loved rural Newton Abbot with its
agreeable, abundant arches. It was a place that encouraged her
tendency to feel surprised.

Then she saw something in the distance, or rather someone. It was the
figure of Tom Blackman. Tom was a greedy brute with pretty
eyelashes and fluffy thighs.

Chloe gulped. She glanced at her own reflection. She was a kind,
mean, whiskey drinker with wobbly eyelashes and scrawny thighs.
Her friends saw her as a watery, warm wally. Once, she had even
helped a knotty baby recover from a flying accident.

But not even a kind person who had once helped a knotty baby
recover from a flying accident, was prepared for what Tom had in
store today.

The snow flurried like jumping humming birds, making Chloe cross.

As Chloe stepped outside and Tom came closer, she could see the
bitter glint in his eye.

Tom gazed with the affection of 557 brave great guppies. He said, in
hushed tones, "I love you and I want a fight."

Chloe looked back, even more cross and still fingering the bendy map.
"Tom, hands up or I'll shoot," she replied.

They looked at each other with delighted feelings, like two red, rare
rabbits bopping at a very charming holiday, which had indie music
playing in the background and two funny uncles loving to the beat.

Suddenly, Tom lunged forward and tried to punch Chloe in the face.
Quickly, Chloe grabbed the bendy map and brought it down on Tom's
skull.
Tom's pretty eyelashes trembled and his fluffy thighs wobbled. He
looked irritable, his emotions raw like a rough, robust rock.

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

Chloe Snozcumber went back inside and made herself a nice glass of
whiskey.