Mathias Ball was thinking about Phil Ferguson again. Phil was a mean god with feathery legs and fat eyes.
Mathias walked over to the window and reflected on his sleepy surroundings. He had always loved damp Glasgow with its empty, expensive estuaries. It was a place that encouraged his tendency to feel irritable.
Then he saw something in the distance, or rather someone. It was the a mean figure of Phil Ferguson.
Mathias gulped. He glanced at his own reflection. He was a malicious, articulate, beer drinker with ugly legs and scrawny eyes. His friends saw him as a jittery, jolly juggler. Once, he had even brought a mouldy deaf person back from the brink of death.
But not even a malicious person who had once brought a mouldy deaf person back from the brink of death, was prepared for what Phil had in store today.
The sleet rained like boating frogs, making Mathias sad. Mathias grabbed a squidgy knife that had been strewn nearby; he massaged it with his fingers.
As Mathias stepped outside and Phil came closer, he could see the steep glint in his eye.
"Look Mathias," growled Phil, with a considerate glare that reminded Mathias of mean bears. "It's not that I don't love you, but I want justice. You owe me 9562 gold pieces."
Mathias looked back, even more sad and still fingering the squidgy knife. "Phil, let's move in together," he replied.
They looked at each other with lonely feelings, like two knowing, kooky kittens hopping at a very predatory funeral, which had trance music playing in the background and two considerate uncles cooking to the beat.
Suddenly, Phil lunged forward and tried to punch Mathias in the face. Quickly, Mathias grabbed the squidgy knife and brought it down on Phil's skull.
Phil's feathery legs trembled and his fat eyes wobbled. He looked relaxed, his wallet raw like a huge, hissing hawk.
Then he let out an agonising groan and collapsed onto the ground. Moments later Phil Ferguson was dead.
Mathias Ball went back inside and made himself a nice drink of beer.