Abraham Drinkin had always hated grey Wichita with its naughty, noisy nooks. It was a place where he felt worried.
He was a brutal, proud, brandy drinker with greasy eyes and chubby warts. His friends saw him as a bad, broken bear. Once, he had even saved a smooth chicken that was stuck in a drain. That's the sort of man he was.
Abraham walked over to the window and reflected on his wild surroundings. The rain hammered like thinking donkeys.
Then he saw something in the distance, or rather someone. It was the figure of Sectarian Flu. Sectarian was a smelly monster with spiky eyes and vast warts.
Abraham gulped. He was not prepared for Sectarian.
As Abraham stepped outside and Sectarian came closer, he could see the pretty smile on his face.
"I am here because I want His Soul," Sectarian bellowed, in a witty tone. He slammed his fist against Abraham's chest, with the force of 7892 elephants. "I frigging hate you, Abraham Drinkin."
Abraham looked back, even more unstable and still fingering the warped torch. "Sectarian, I ate your puppy," he replied.
They looked at each other with stressed feelings, like two bitter, breakable bears rampaging at a very ruthless funeral, which had jazz music playing in the background and two optimistic uncles boating to the beat.
Abraham studied Sectarian's spiky eyes and vast warts. Eventually, he took a deep breath. "I'm sorry, but I can't give you His Soul," he explained, in pitying tones.
Sectarian looked irritable, his body raw like a breezy, burnt blade.
Abraham could actually hear Sectarian's body shatter into 7756 pieces. Then the smelly monster hurried away into the distance.
Not even a glass of brandy would calm Abraham's nerves tonight.
THE END
