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Here under the bedcovers, furry beast that I am, snuggled up in a ball, there is a certain cuteness~ like a cheeky chipmunk nestled in its burrow. The fact that I am a 260lb hitman does not easily segue into this tale, unless you consider the vast unseen underground, where predators lurk beyond the cute facade. Sweet dreams!!

Never mind about the children, they were already damaged~ abused before they came here… calling it a care home was more along the lines of ‘being taken care of’… now they could serve their country, by being photographed in compromising positions with distinguished gentlemen, giving the political leverage necessary to ensure the wheels of the weapons industry could keep turning a profit.

If only this were fiction, not British history… Elm Guest House

Life as a Harlem Hustler required a few modifications to get the most out of your auto~ a makeshift sling, screwed haphazardly into the plastic of the dashboard made an ideal holster for ole faithful~ the baseball bat that had hit more than home runs.

Tucked away, not many folk knew of this relic that was essential to the cities growth~ huge walls, still towering despite their decay, though mostly eclipsed by greedy vines, vying for status by climbing on the shoulders of another’s greatness, whilst slowly sucking the minerals out of the mortar which held this ancient reservoir together.

All that we are, everything we know, past, present and future is all fabricated~ we know not by who or how, but everything is manufactured in some shape or form, from the zygotic dawn of life, to the towering edifices of our cities and the probes we send into the cosmos, searching for further evidence of our creator.

The podium today was mighty relaxed… the medals being handed out where sent from the heavens, and hung wherever there was exposed skin~ where traditionally, bronze was the lowliest of achievements, here the roles were reversed and the darkest hue was testament to a winning combination of vitamin D and decadent laziness.

Waiting, waiting, waiting, nothing, no sign of life, none of the usual machine gun popping and warm smells… life can be so empty, like a pan full of kernels that just won’t pop and choose to burn instead… calamity has its place, but the kitchen ain’t it.

It had been a long day and it was beginning to take its toll~ the peaty soil was saturated by the constant lashing rain and Brians fingers had lost all feeling… still he forged on, as the task in hand was too huge to procrastinate on.

As the body flopped into the watery pit, Brians temper flared once more as a trickle entered his boots.

The room was filled to the brim with silence~ the crowd had so much potential for laughter, chatter, or as an angry mob, but everyone was transfixed, a mixture of anticipation and awe suspending them in a state of calm, focused only on outside stimulus as it lay before them.

Many years later, those present at the performance would still recall it with startling clarity, such was the magnitude of the awe at what had been conjured that day, almost seared into the memory, like a branded cow, scarred for evermore.

The best teacher in the world is just a guide, helping you to take your own path and learn from experience