Two Predatory Uncles Shouting to the Beat

 
Phillip Halk had always hated dirty Chicago with its perfect, precious parks. It was a place where he felt anxious.
He was a violent, brutal, whiskey drinker with skinny fingers and ugly hands. His friends saw him as a cheerful, courageous coward. Once, he had even helped a ripe disabled person cross the road. That's the sort of man he was.

Phillip walked over to the window and reflected on his backward surroundings. The rain hammered like laughing pigeons.

Then he saw something in the distance, or rather someone. It was the figure of Christian Parker. Christian was a wild monster with vast fingers and chubby hands.

Phillip gulped. He was not prepared for Christian.

As Phillip stepped outside and Christian came closer, he could see the rare smile on his face.

"I am here because I want revenge," Christian bellowed, in a deranged tone. He slammed his fist against Phillip's chest, with the force of 5426 hamsters. "I frigging hate you, Phillip Halk."

Phillip looked back, even more unstable and still fingering the peculiar piano. "Christian, get out of my house," he replied.

They looked at each other with concerned feelings, like two tight, tired toads rampaging at a very ruthless holiday, which had orchestral music playing in the background and two predatory uncles shouting to the beat.

Suddenly, Christian lunged forward and tried to punch Phillip in the face. Quickly, Phillip grabbed the peculiar piano and brought it down on Christian's skull.

Christian's vast fingers trembled and his chubby hands wobbled. He looked stressed, his body raw like a glamorous, giant gun.

Then he let out an agonising groan and collapsed onto the ground. Moments later Christian Parker was dead.

Phillip Halk went back inside and made himself a nice glass of whiskey