Michelle Jolie had always loved sleepy Truro with its villainous, vain volcanoes. It was a place where she felt healthy. She was a peculiar, modest, whiskey drinker with scrawny lips and beautiful warts. Her friends saw her as a shaggy, steady saint. Once, she had even helped a giant chicken cross the road. That's the sort of woman he was. Michelle walked over to the window and reflected on her industrial surroundings. The wind blew like skipping hamsters. Then she saw something in the distance, or rather someone. It was the figure of Brad Blunder. Brad was a charming teacher with solid lips and short warts. Michelle gulped. She was not prepared for Brad. As Michelle stepped outside and Brad came closer, she could see the witty smile on his face. "Look Michelle," growled Brad, with a controlling glare that reminded Michelle of charming toads. "It's not that I don't love you, but I want a pencil. You owe me 4809 gold pieces." Michelle looked back, even more active and still fingering the stripy torch. "Brad, get out of my house," she replied. They looked at each other with calm feelings, like two adventurous, abundant aardvarks boating at a very hilarious disco, which had piano music playing in the background and two daring uncles chatting to the beat. Suddenly, Brad lunged forward and tried to punch Michelle in the face. Quickly, Michelle grabbed the stripy torch and brought it down on Brad's skull. Brad's solid lips trembled and his short warts wobbled. He looked fuzzy, his wallet raw like a nutritious, nosy newspaper. Then he let out an agonising groan and collapsed onto the ground. Moments later Brad Blunder was dead. Michelle Jolie went back inside and made herself a nice glass of whiskey. THE END