Hungry Catherine Blast

A Short Story
by Random Writer

Molly Wilson was thinking about Catherine Blast again. Catherine was a
hungry writer with wide eyelashes and curvy lips.

Molly walked over to the window and reflected on her dull

surroundings. She had always loved magical Cambridge with its flabby,
forgotten fields. It was a place that encouraged her tendency to feel
happy.

Then she saw something in the distance, or rather someone. It was the a
hungry figure of Catherine Blast.

Molly gulped. She glanced at her own reflection. She was a tight-fisted,
considerate, port drinker with ruddy eyelashes and greasy lips. Her
friends saw her as a precious, putrid painter. Once, she had even revived
a dying, deaf person.

But not even a tight-fisted person who had once revived a dying, deaf
person, was prepared for what Catherine had in store today.

The snow flurried like sleeping giraffes, making Molly surprised. Molly
grabbed a minuscule banana that had been strewn nearby; she massaged
it with her fingers.

As Molly stepped outside and Catherine came closer, she could see the
wicked smile on her face.

"I am here because I want a phone number," Catherine bellowed, in a

smelly tone. She slammed her fist against Molly's chest, with the force
of 8865 tortoises. "I frigging love you, Molly Wilson."

Molly looked back, even more surprised and still fingering the
minuscule banana. "Catherine, eat my shorts," she replied.
They looked at each other with jumpy feelings, like two great, glorious
guppies bouncing at a very patient wedding, which had jazz music
playing in the background and two selfish uncles bopping to the beat.

Molly regarded Catherine's wide eyelashes and curvy lips. She held out
her hand. "Let's not fight," she whispered, gently.

"Hmph," pondered Catherine.

"Please?" begged Molly with puppy dog eyes.

Catherine looked worried, her body blushing like a nutritious, new

newspaper.

Then Catherine came inside for a nice glass of port.

THE END