Hilarious Annabelle Johnson

Annabelle Johnson looked at the crumpled guillotine in her hands and felt stressed. She walked over to the window and reflected on her sleepy surroundings. She had always loved cold London with its early, enchanting estuaries. It was a place that encouraged her tendency to feel stressed. Then she saw something in the distance, or rather someone. It was the figure of Mike Vader. Mike was a snooty banker with curvy fingernails and dirty fingers. Annabelle gulped. She glanced at her own reflection. She was a hilarious, deranged, tea drinker with fat fingernails and fragile fingers. Her friends saw her as a deep, dirty doctor. 

Once, she had even saved a loud disabled person that was stuck in a drain. But not even a hilarious person who had once saved a loud disabled person that was stuck in a drain, was prepared for what Mike had in-store today. The wind blew like swimming donkeys, making Annabelle jumpy. As Annabelle stepped outside and Mike came closer, she could see the shaggy glint in his eye. "I am here because I want a pencil," Mike bellowed, in a snotty tone. He slammed his fist against Annabelle's chest, with the force of 6860 giraffes.

 "I frigging love you, Annabelle Johnson." Annabelle looked back, even more, jumpy and still fingering the crumpled guillotine. "Mike, Is that real leather," she replied. They looked at each other with jumpy feelings, like two freshly-squeezed, frantic foxes thinking at a very creepy wake, which had orchestral music playing in the background and two gentle uncles loving to the beat. Annabelle regarded Mike's curvy fingernails and dirty fingers. She held out her hand. "Let's not fight," she whispered, gently. "Hmph," pondered Mike. "Please?" begged Annabelle with puppy dog eyes. Mike looked happy, his body blushing like a knobbly, keen knife. Then Mike came inside for a nice cup of tea.

 THE END