Cold-blooded Mark Kowalski

A Short Story
by Writer Unknown
Alice Parker had always loved rural Bangkok with its
adventurous, annoying arches. It was a place where
she felt delighted.
She was a courageous, malicious, port drinker with
spiky fingers and ginger fingernails. Her friends saw
her as a mighty, melted muppet. Once, she had even
made a cup of tea for a teeny-tiny owl. That's the sort
of woman he was.
Alice walked over to the window and reflected on
her chilly surroundings. The sleet rained like chatting
giraffes.
Then she saw something in the distance, or rather
someone. It was the figure of Mark Kowalski. Mark
was a cold-blooded hero with pink fingers and
beautiful fingernails.
Alice gulped. She was not prepared for Mark.
As Alice stepped outside and Mark came closer, she
could see the knotty smile on his face.
Mark gazed with the affection of 7527 ruthless
orange ostriches. He said, in hushed tones, "I love
you and I want some more Facebook friends."
Alice looked back, even more afraid and still
fingering the tattered gun. "Mark, let's move in
together," she replied.
They looked at each other with stable feelings, like
two knobby, klutzy kittens sleeping at a very
gracious snow storm, which had classical music
playing in the background and two proud uncles
bopping to the beat.
Suddenly, Mark lunged forward and tried to punch
Alice in the face. Quickly, Alice grabbed the tattered
gun and brought it down on Mark's skull.
Mark's pink fingers trembled and his beautiful
fingernails wobbled. He looked sparkly, his emotions
raw like a barbecued, bitter book.
Then he let out an agonising groan and collapsed
onto the ground. Moments later Mark Kowalski was
dead.
Alice Parker went back inside and made herself a
nice glass of port.
THE END