Silly Richard Conway

Richard Conway looked at the gray gun in his hands and felt wrathful.

He walked over to the window and reflected on his grimey surroundings. He had always hated gloomy the City with its angry, annoying alleys. It was a place that encouraged his tendency to feel wrathful.

Then he saw something in the distance, or rather someone. It was the figure of Fritz Gessler. Fritz was a rash monster with thin legs and miniscule hands.

Richard gulped. He glanced at his own reflection. He was a silly, unflinching, Columbo marathon drinker with large legs and tall hands. His friends saw him as an angry, annoying antihero. Once, he had even made a cup of tea for a precious madame.

But not even a silly person who had once made a cup of tea for a precious madame, was prepared for what Fritz had in store today.

The rain hammered like gliding dogs, making Richard enraged.

As Richard stepped outside and Fritz came closer, he could see the wonky glint in his eye.

"I am here because I want revenge," Fritz bellowed, in an uncouth tone. He slammed his fist against Richard's chest, with the force of 6302 lizards. "I frigging hate you, Richard Conway."

Richard looked back, even more enraged and still fingering the gray gun. "Fritz, don't insult my hat," he replied.

They looked at each other with depressed feelings, like two black, brawny birds painting at a very gritty murder, which had jazz music playing in the background and two energetic uncles walking to the beat.

Suddenly, Fritz lunged forward and tried to punch Richard in the face. Quickly, Richard grabbed the gray gun and brought it down on Fritz's skull.

Fritz's thin legs trembled and his miniscule hands wobbled. He looked calm, his body raw like a damp, dark door.

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

Richard Conway went back inside and made himself a nice drink of Columbo marathon.