LeBron James looked at the cursed book in his hands and felt angry.

He walked over to the window and reflected on his backward surroundings. He had always loved depressed Cleveland with its faffdorking, frail factories. It was a place that encouraged his tendency to feel angry.

Then he saw something in the distance, or rather someone. It was the figure of Kyrie Irving. Kyrie was an arrogant traitor with fake ears and round hairline.

LeBron gulped. He glanced at his own reflection. He was a pussy, brave, water drinker with big ears and receding hairline. His friends saw him as a lovely, late lion. Once, he had even brought a pretty trust back from the brink of death.

But not even a pussy person who had once brought a pretty trust back from the brink of death, was prepared for what Kyrie had in store today.

The clouds danced like vacationing giraffes, making LeBron anxious.

As LeBron stepped outside and Kyrie came closer, he could see the magnificent smile on his face.

"I am here because I want A trade," Kyrie bellowed, in a coward tone. He slammed his fist against LeBron's chest, with the force of 5237 lizards. "I frigging hate you, LeBron James."

LeBron looked back, even more anxious and still fingering the cursed book. "Kyrie, I want to fight you," he replied.

They looked at each other with happy feelings, like two stinky, scrawny snakes resting at a very disrespectful practice, which had hip-hop music playing in the background and two fatherly uncles complaining to the beat.

Suddenly, Kyrie lunged forward and tried to punch LeBron in the face. Quickly, LeBron grabbed the cursed book and brought it down on Kyrie's skull.

Kyrie's fake ears trembled and his round hairline wobbled. He looked sad, his body raw like a good, gifted guillotine.

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

LeBron James went back inside and made himself a nice drink of water.

THE END