Frowney was a happy clown. He lived in a nice house in a nice part of town, had a lovely wife and loved his job. His best friend was Smiley, a man who seemed to be unlucky in the game he called "life."

A few hours before Smiley had gotten up and left for work, Frowney had already arrived to work in his brand new Bugatti Veyron and was wearing a very expensive, new suit tailored for him. He used to work with Smiley back on the thirteenth floor of the office building but had recently been promoted and now worked in the forteenth floor.

* * *

Smiley had nearly been hit four times by different cars and had even been knocked over by a bike. His umbrella and fake driver's license were stolen when he was mugged and he swore he'd been abducted by aliens or something. He also banged his head into the automatic door on the way in to work. He slumped into his hard plastic chair at his crammed desk and one of the back legs collapsed. He grumbled to himself and tried to fix it when he got a phone call. He answered it.

"Smiley!" came the exited voice of Frowney form the receiver.
"Frowney," said Smiley, exasperated. It was good to talk to his own friend. "Listen I've had the worst-"
"Guess what," came Frowney's voice again, abruptly interrupting Smiley.
"Uh, what?"
"I just lost the Game!"
"That's it." said Smiley as he put the phone down. He walked over to the window and smashed the entire thing open, feeling the cold afternoon wind rush into his small office and onto his face. Some rain water came in too. In fact, it was lightening. Really bad. He walked to the edge and looked down at the twelve storeys below him and took a deep breath as he lifted one foot off the floor and into thin air on the other side of the once-was window but, before he could do anything next, a bolt of lightening bolted through him, causing his red afro to shoot up into spikes before settling down, now a blackish-brown colour and before he blacked out, he could feel himself falling. He couldn't even jump out of a building properly.

The End

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