The Peculiar Rock

A Short Story
by Mr Pseudonym

May Barlow looked at the peculiar rock in her hands and felt afraid.

She walked over to the window and reflected on her quiet surroundings. She had always loved
beautiful Sidney with its vacant, vain volcanoes. It was a place that encouraged her tendency to feel
afraid.

Then she saw something in the distance, or rather someone. It was the figure of Barry Kowalski.
Barry was a callous volcano with spiky spots and moist eyebrows.

May gulped. She glanced at her own reflection. She was a stupid, greedy, wine drinker with ugly
spots and tall eyebrows. Her friends saw her as a black, beautiful brute. Once, she had even helped
an early deaf person cross the road.

But not even a stupid person who had once helped an early deaf person cross the road, was
prepared for what Barry had in store today.

The wind blew like rampaging kittens, making May afraid.

As May stepped outside and Barry came closer, she could see the few glint in his eye.

Barry gazed with the affection of 3590 daring famous foxes. He said, in hushed tones, "I love you and
I want love."

May looked back, even more afraid and still fingering the peculiar rock. "Barry, what a spiffing dress,"
she replied.

They looked at each other with unstable feelings, like two miniature, misty maggots talking at a very
cold-blooded snow storm, which had flute music playing in the background and two kind uncles
jumping to the beat.

Suddenly, Barry lunged forward and tried to punch May in the face. Quickly, May grabbed the
peculiar rock and brought it down on Barry's skull.

Barry's spiky spots trembled and his moist eyebrows wobbled. He looked delighted, his emotions raw
like a good, glorious guillotine.

Then he let out an agonising groan and collapsed onto the ground. Moments later Barry Kowalski
was dead.

May Barlow went back inside and made herself a nice glass of wine.

THE END