A gremlin stood on a bridge, looking over the rail into the deep, inviting water below. He was not your average gremlin. He liked to read, watch foreign films and contemplate the complexities of modern society. He was a gremlin, but he felt like his warty green skin, his leathery oversized ears and his knobbly feet betrayed him. He didn't feel like they belonged to him. He was a human in a gremlin's body.
'C'mon Snohtstik,' said Bungleburp, as he bounded past the contemplative gremlin, half a dozen other gremlins in tow. 'Let's go poke some babies and torment some kittens and squeeze lemons at passing old people.'
'Not today, thanks,' said Snohtstik. 'Not really in the mood.'
'Suit yerself,' said Bungleburp, and the bounding gremlins bounded on their way.
Is this all there is? thought Snoktstik, as his eyes followed the passage of a twig, carried as it was by the inexorable currents below. Is there really no more to the life of a gremlin than the mischievous mauling of mammals? (he realised that mauling wasn't quite the right word, but forgave himself this literary imprecision, due to the pleasing alliteracy of his thoughts).
It was then that a member of Bungleburp's posse, who had straggled purposely behind, crept up behind Snohtstik and gave him a firm shove, thus projecting him with speed and force into the coursing waterway below.
'You arsehole!' shouted Snohtstik, as his head bobbed above the water, his arms flapped and his stumpy little gremliny legs struggled to keep him afloat.
But the gremlin merely giggled and continued on his way.