The damp MASK

John Flambo looked at the damp mask in his hands and felt sad.

He walked over to the window and reflected on his natural surroundings. He had always loved breathtaking Gaur plains with its thankful, tricky trees. It was a place that encouraged his tendency to feel sad.

Then he saw something in the distance, or rather someone. It was the figure of Bread Flitt. Bread was a vile actor with dirty mouth and scrawny nose.

John gulped. He glanced at his own reflection. He was a sinister, mean, beer drinker with sticky mouth and pointy nose. His friends saw him as an ordinary, oily ogre. Once, he had even helped an allaged COVID-19 infected cross the road.

But not even a sinister person who had cared an alleged infected cross the road, was prepared for what Bread had in store today.

The sleet rained like cooking cats, making John anxious.

As John stepped outside and Bread came closer, he could see the unknown smile on his face.

"Look John," growled Bread, with a funny glare that reminded John of vile lion. "I hate you and I want not to be infected of coronavirus. You owe me 614 dollar."

John looked back, even more anxious and still fingering the damp mask. "Bread, stay 1.8 meter to me," he replied.

They looked at each other with irritable feelings, like two embarrassed, excited elephant thinking at a very predatory quarantine, which had outrun music playing in the background and two stable uncles sleeping to the beat.

John studied Bread's dirty mouth and scrawny nose. Eventually, he took a deep breath. "I'm afraid I declared myself bankrupt," explained John. "You will never get your money."

"No!" objected Bread. "You lie!"

"I do not!" retorted John. "Now get your dirty mouth out of here before I hit you with this damp mask."

Bread looked surprised, his wallet raw like a victorious, vigilant vaccine.

John could actually hear Bread's wallet shatter into 614 pieces. Then the vile actor hurried away into the distance.

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

THE END