Industrial Upper Boggington (What the heck are chubby moles lol)

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by firstnameforme

by firstnameforme

Steven Donaldson was thinking about Annie Bond again. Annie was a remarkable writer with pink fingernails and chubby moles.

Steven walked over to the window and reflected on his backward surroundings. He had always loved industrial Upper Boggington with its ugliest, unnatural umbrellas. It was a place that encouraged his tendency to feel concerned.

Then he saw something in the distance, or rather someone. It was the a remarkable figure of Annie Bond.

Steven gulped. He glanced at his own reflection. He was a deranged, smelly, beer drinker with fat fingernails and short moles. His friends saw him as a fried, flipping friend. Once, he had even saved a good injured bird that was stuck in a drain.

But not even a deranged person who had once saved a good injured bird that was stuck in a drain, was prepared for what Annie had in store today.

The clouds danced like gyrating cats, making Steven unstable. Steven grabbed a warped sausage that had been strewn nearby; he massaged it with his fingers.

As Steven stepped outside and Annie came closer, he could see the bulbous smile on her face.

Annie gazed with the affection of 4294 predatory heavy humming birds. She said, in hushed tones, "I love you and I want some more Twitter followers."

Steven looked back, even more unstable and still fingering the warped sausage. "Annie, what a spiffing dress," he replied.

They looked at each other with confident feelings, like two heavy, harsh horses loving at a very ruthless Christening, which had classical music playing in the background and two generous uncles swimming to the beat.

Steven studied Annie's pink fingernails and chubby moles. Eventually, he took a deep breath. "I'm sorry," began Steven in apologetic tones, "but I don't feel the same way, and I never will. I just don't love you Annie."

Annie looked sad, her emotions raw like a stagnant, smiling sandwich.

Steven could actually hear Annie's emotions shatter into 1513 pieces. Then the remarkable writer hurried away into the distance.

Not even a drink of beer would calm Steven's nerves tonight.

THE END