The Rain that Hammered like Bouncing Aardvarks
A Short Story
by Mark Antony Raines
Steve Barlow looked at the giant sausage in his hands and felt happy.
He walked over to the window and reflected on his creepy surroundings. He had always loved sleepy Camborne with its quirky, quickest quarries. It was a place that encouraged his tendency to feel happy.
Then he saw something in the distance, or rather someone. It was the figure of Daniel Thunder. Daniel was a proud patient with pointy lips and pointy eyelashes.
Steve gulped. He glanced at his own reflection. He was a smart, cute, wine drinker with pink lips and grubby eyelashes. His friends saw him as a helpless, hard hero. Once, he had even made a cup of tea for a glorious baby.
But not even a smart person who had once made a cup of tea for a glorious baby, was prepared for what Daniel had in store today.
The rain hammered like bouncing aardvarks, making Steve angry.
As Steve stepped outside and Daniel came closer, he could see the mute glint in his eye.
Daniel gazed with the affection of 8343 courageous homeless humming birds. He said, in hushed tones, "I love you and I want a phone number."
Steve looked back, even more angry and still fingering the giant sausage. "Daniel, let's get married," he replied.
They looked at each other with lonely feelings, like two fair, few flamingos hopping at a very lovable Christening, which had reggae music playing in the background and two peculiar uncles sleeping to the beat.
Steve studied Daniel's pointy lips and pointy eyelashes. Eventually, he took a deep breath. "I'm sorry," began Steve in apologetic tones, "but I don't feel the same way, and I never will. I just don't love you Daniel."
Daniel looked puzzled, his emotions raw like a rainy, raw rock.
Steve could actually hear Daniel's emotions shatter into 470 pieces. Then the proud patient hurried away into the distance.
Not even a glass of wine would calm Steve's nerves tonight.
THE END
He walked over to the window and reflected on his creepy surroundings. He had always loved sleepy Camborne with its quirky, quickest quarries. It was a place that encouraged his tendency to feel happy.
Then he saw something in the distance, or rather someone. It was the figure of Daniel Thunder. Daniel was a proud patient with pointy lips and pointy eyelashes.
Steve gulped. He glanced at his own reflection. He was a smart, cute, wine drinker with pink lips and grubby eyelashes. His friends saw him as a helpless, hard hero. Once, he had even made a cup of tea for a glorious baby.
But not even a smart person who had once made a cup of tea for a glorious baby, was prepared for what Daniel had in store today.
The rain hammered like bouncing aardvarks, making Steve angry.
As Steve stepped outside and Daniel came closer, he could see the mute glint in his eye.
Daniel gazed with the affection of 8343 courageous homeless humming birds. He said, in hushed tones, "I love you and I want a phone number."
Steve looked back, even more angry and still fingering the giant sausage. "Daniel, let's get married," he replied.
They looked at each other with lonely feelings, like two fair, few flamingos hopping at a very lovable Christening, which had reggae music playing in the background and two peculiar uncles sleeping to the beat.
Steve studied Daniel's pointy lips and pointy eyelashes. Eventually, he took a deep breath. "I'm sorry," began Steve in apologetic tones, "but I don't feel the same way, and I never will. I just don't love you Daniel."
Daniel looked puzzled, his emotions raw like a rainy, raw rock.
Steve could actually hear Daniel's emotions shatter into 470 pieces. Then the proud patient hurried away into the distance.
Not even a glass of wine would calm Steve's nerves tonight.
THE END
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