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Mo Rabbit was thinking about Mark Butterscotch again. Mark was a popular lover with fluffy abs and greasy thighs.
Mo walked over to the window and reflected on his cold surroundings. He had always loved sunny Sleepford with its lovely, loopy lakes. It was a place that encouraged his tendency to feel lonely.
Then he saw something in the distance, or rather someone. It was the a popular figure of Mark Butterscotch.
Mo gulped. He glanced at his own reflection. He was a caring, proud, wine drinker with spiky abs and pretty thighs. His friends saw him as a vigilant, violet vicar. Once, he had even brought a rich owl back from the brink of death.
But not even a caring person who had once brought a rich owl back from the brink of death, was prepared for what Mark had in store today.
The rain hammered like thinking maggots, making Mo stressed. Mo grabbed a stripy blade that had been strewn nearby; he massaged it with his fingers.
As Mo stepped outside and Mark came closer, he could see the dusty smile on his face.
"I am here because I want a resolution," Mark bellowed, in a scheming tone. He slammed his fist against Mo's chest, with the force of 2530 rats. "I frigging love you, Mo Rabbit."
Mo looked back, even more stressed and still fingering the stripy blade. "Mark, let's move in together," he replied.
They looked at each other with barmy feelings, like two bored, breakable blue bottles walking at a very malicious wedding, which had drum and bass music playing in the background and two adorable uncles sitting to the beat.
Suddenly, Mark lunged forward and tried to punch Mo in the face. Quickly, Mo grabbed the stripy blade and brought it down on Mark's skull.
Mark's fluffy abs trembled and his greasy thighs wobbled. He looked calm, his body raw like a broken, bad book.
Then he let out an agonising groan and collapsed onto the ground. Moments later Mark Butterscotch was dead.
Mo Rabbit went back inside and made himself a nice glass of wine.
THE END
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