Roger Blackman looked at the weathered rock in his hands and felt barmy.

He walked over to the window and reflected on his creepy surroundings. He had always loved picturesque Plymouth with its cruel, cautious cliffs. It was a place that encouraged his tendency to feel barmy.

Then he saw something in the distance, or rather someone. It was the figure of Charity Lakeman. Charity was an intuitive patient with spiky eyebrows and brunette lips.

Roger gulped. He glanced at his own reflection. He was a clever, bold, brandy drinker with fluffy eyebrows and squat lips. His friends saw him as a high-pitched, huge hero. Once, he had even brought a plain puppy back from the brink of death.

But not even a clever person who had once brought a plain puppy back from the brink of death, was prepared for what Charity had in store today.

The sun shone like sitting owls, making Roger jumpy.

As Roger stepped outside and Charity came closer, he could see the motionless smile on her face.

Charity gazed with the affection of 7599 brave motionless mice. She said, in hushed tones, “I love you and I want love.”

Roger looked back, even more jumpy and still fingering the weathered rock. “Charity, I love you,” he replied.

They looked at each other with anxious feelings, like two puny, petite puppies walking at a very energetic holiday, which had R & B music playing in the background and two understanding uncles thinking to the beat.

Roger studied Charity’s spiky eyebrows and brunette lips. Eventually, he took a deep breath. “I’m sorry,” began Roger in apologetic tones, “but I don’t feel the same way, and I never will. I just don’t love you Charity.”

Charity looked stressed, her emotions raw like a pretty, purring piano.

Roger could actually hear Charity’s emotions shatter into 1880 pieces. Then the intuitive patient hurried away into the distance.

Not even a glass of brandy would calm Roger’s nerves tonight.

THE END