Heather Sparkle was thinking about Richard Wilson again.

Richard was a thoughtful

god with pink moles and brunette ankles.

Heather walked over to the window and reflected on her picturesque surroundings.
She had always loved sleepy Los Angeles with its open, ordinary oceans. It was a
place that encouraged her tendency to feel calm.

Then she saw something in the distance, or rather someone. It was the a thoughtful
figure of Richard Wilson.

Heather gulped. She glanced at her own reflection. She was a hopeful, admirable,
tea drinker with ruddy moles and handsome ankles. Her friends saw her as a puny,
purring painter. Once, she had even helped an enthusiastic puppy cross the road.

But not even a hopeful person who had once helped an enthusiastic puppy cross the
road, was prepared for what Richard had in store today.

The wind blew like sitting tortoises, making Heather sparkly. Heather grabbed a
magic map that had been strewn nearby; she massaged it with her fingers.

As Heather stepped outside and Richard came closer, she could see the iffy glint in
his eye.

Richard gazed with the affection of 9300 stingy pickled pigeons. He said, in hushed
tones, "I love you and I want love."

Heather looked back, even more sparkly and still fingering the magic map. "Richard,
I'm in love with you," she replied.

They looked at each other with healthy feelings, like two pickled, purring pigeons
partying at a very bold Christening, which had orchestral music playing in the
background and two tight-fisted uncles gyrating to the beat.

Heather studied Richard's pink moles and brunette ankles. Eventually, she took a
deep breath. "I'm sorry," began Heather in apologetic tones, "but I don't feel the
same way, and I never will. I just don't love you Richard."

Richard looked calm, his emotions raw like a grated, gentle guillotine.

Heather could actually hear Richard's emotions shatter into 6838 pieces. Then the
thoughtful god hurried away into the distance.

Not even a cup of tea would calm Heather's nerves tonight.

THE END