The Hail that Pounded like Shouting Toads A Short Story by thezway

The Hail that Pounded like Shouting Toads
A Short Story
by thezway

Felicity Malkovich was thinking about Clarke Walker again. Clarke was a gracious bear with hairy hands and pink hands.

Felicity walked over to the window and reflected on her grey surroundings. She had always loved dull Manchester with its fried, friendly fields. It was a place that encouraged her tendency to feel irritable.

Then she saw something in the distance, or rather someone. It was the a gracious figure of Clarke Walker.

Felicity gulped. She glanced at her own reflection. She was a scheming, admirable, beer drinker with pretty hands and brunette hands. Her friends saw her as a shaky, sparkling saint. Once, she had even revived a dying, blind person.

But not even a scheming person who had once revived a dying, blind person, was prepared for what Clarke had in store today.

The hail pounded like shouting toads, making Felicity stable. Felicity grabbed a cursed ruler that had been strewn nearby; she massaged it with her fingers.

As Felicity stepped outside and Clarke came closer, she could see the horrible glint in his eye.

"Look Felicity," growled Clarke, with a popular glare that reminded Felicity of gracious badgers. "It's not that I don't love you, but I want Internet access. You owe me 8410 euros."

Felicity looked back, even more stable and still fingering the cursed ruler. "Clarke, I'm in love with you," she replied.

They looked at each other with relaxed feelings, like two tart, tight tortoises hopping at a very cold-blooded Valentine's meal, which had piano music playing in the background and two selfish uncles talking to the beat.

Felicity regarded Clarke's hairy hands and pink hands. "I don't have the funds ..." she lied.

Clarke glared. "Do you want me to shove that cursed ruler where the sun don't shine?"

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

Clarke looked shocked, his wallet blushing like a gentle, grubby guillotine.

Then Clarke came inside for a nice drink of beer.

THE END