by Bradford Hodgkins
Ruth Smart looked at the bendy map in her hands and felt afraid.
She walked over to the window and reflected on her industrial surroundings. She had always hated wild Glasgow with its courageous, curved cliffs. 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 Mildred Walker. Mildred was a gracious ogre with hairy eyebrows and tall arms.
Ruth gulped. She glanced at her own reflection. She was a cowardly, generous, whiskey drinker with dirty eyebrows and brown arms. Her friends saw her as a loud, loose lover. Once, she had even brought a quaint blind person back from the brink of death.
But not even a cowardly person who had once brought a quaint blind person back from the brink of death, was prepared for what Mildred had in store today.
The sleet rained like laughing donkeys, making Ruth sneezy.
As Ruth stepped outside and Mildred came closer, she could see the orange glint in her eye.
“Look Ruth,” growled Mildred, with an optimistic glare that reminded Ruth of gracious dogs. “I hate you and I want Internet access. You owe me 4797 pounds.”
Ruth looked back, even more sneezy and still fingering the bendy map. “Mildred, I am your mother,” she replied.
They looked at each other with stressed feelings, like two faithful, flabby foxes boating at a very mean Christening, which had death-reggae music playing in the background and two hungry uncles shouting to the beat.
Suddenly, Mildred lunged forward and tried to punch Ruth in the face. Quickly, Ruth grabbed the bendy map and brought it down on Mildred’s skull.
Mildred’s hairy eyebrows trembled and her tall arms wobbled. She looked jumpy, her wallet raw like a grim, grated gun.
Then she let out an agonising groan and collapsed onto the ground. Moments later Mildred Walker was dead.
Ruth Smart went back inside and made herself a nice glass of whiskey.