I tend to write a lot of short stories in my free time, so if anybody has any more to contribute, please do.

I'm not really big on stories or anything, so they always lack structure, but I'll post them anyway for the heck of it. There was one guy on another forum who used to analyse every story/picture I did, and find deep artistic meanings in them that were always news to me. I'm not saying that that'll happen here, but we live in hope.

Story 1

In the beginning, the page was blank. So I wrote day and night. On the first day, I wrote the past couple sentences. On the second day, I wrote this one to follow them. On the third and fourth days, I wrote this sentence, and on the fifth I created a main character. His name is Purple. He says hi. On the sixth day I created a setting – a town called Disc-Remote. There were only six days in my week, because I didn’t want to try and outdo God. That’d be a bit ambitious.

Purple woke up on Karlsday morning and looked out of his window – it was raining. Purple liked rain, so he went into the garden and stood amidst the downpour for an hour or so. Purple was aware that this wasn’t contributing to the story much, but he had been given an unusual amount of free will for a fictional character, and so he stood there defiantly for most of the day.

“If you don’t move soon, you’re going to catch a cold, or worse, pneumonia.” I said to him, as day turned to night and the rain continued to pound the town.

“You’re the author – it’s within your power to stop that.”

“Yes, but if I’m going to emulate nature within this world, you will be susceptible to the same diseases as us humans.”

Purple snorted and turned his nose up at me. Within a week he was dead from pneumonia.

Well I did warn him.

The End

That's a really, really, REALLY short story. Got to say though, it's pretty original and kind of strange, so I liked it.

here's a short story i wrote a few days ago its a metaphor for the situation in the middle east, i think i was a bit too blunt with the point i was trying to make though. NO BLOOD FOR OIL.




The mother and her young daughter looked at me aghast. I opened my mouth to apologize, to say "I'm sorry for intruding upon your nice normal lives with what must look like the most deviant thing in the world," but as soon as my lips parted I involuntarily dropped to my knees and began licking the shower's plug hole again, sucking the hair from the grate and savouring the taste in my mouth. On one of the hairs I found a still living louse, and sucked the whole thing between my teeth, tick and all, and smiled appreciatively as it burst. The little girl finally burst into tears and screamed, which bought the public swimming pool’s security running in. Into my mouth I sucked a final flavoursome follicle to fulfill my fetish and swallowed the matt of hair down.

That was how I discovered my addiction to eating other people’s hair from plug hole’s.

ok i likes your story but i figured it perhaps could have been improved upon if only the lead role had expressed his desire beforehand then it would be more of an less interesting twist? i mean it seems like kind of a cop out that he finally eats the stuff but never said so.

just a thought.

Er... define short.

Ok, this is one I wrote a short while ago. I haven't edited it, so the structure and so such is still out, but there is a scrap of an idea.

Oh yeah, contains bad language.

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There was this guy I used to know. I will use the term ‘mate’ in the loosest possible way. Come on, admit it, we have all had friends like that, people who just seem to tag along for no reason and end up hanging around for years. You know nothing about them, well nothing of real substance, and yet it feels like you have known them forever.

Anyway, this dude, Kev, he was as Welsh as Welsh could be, but he had the biggest afro you have ever seen. He could lose school buses full of kids for weeks in that hair. I’m sure it happened once. Big scandal around the village, but that’s another story…

I’ll give Kev credit where it’s due, he was a snappy dresser. This dude would come out of the house on a Friday night looking like he had stepped out of a Cryogenic Stasis chamber that had broke somewhere around 1975, keeping him just as youthful but leaving his sense of style stuck thinking that flairs were still cool, the difference being, on him they still were. The problem with that was, with me being 6’ 4” and bald as a coot, I had the tendency to look like a failed wrestler. Damn, I didn’t even have the style of a semi pro wrestler, so I always felt a bit in the shadows when around him, but he was all right, well, I thought so anyway.

His house was something else. Seriously, imagine any of those really bad TV comedies from the late 70s that used to get shown on the BBC and everyone raved about (that was until we all figured out that they were highly racist and had no place in the modern world). In the corner of the living room he had his own bar set up. Every kitsch item you could imagine was there, from the flying ducks on the wall to the pineapple ice bucket on the bar, it was all right there, pride of place. Speaking of the pineapple ice bucket, he once told me a story about how he used to use it as his piss bucket at night, when he had fallen asleep on the sofa and couldn’t be arsed to make it to the bathroom. Apparently, so I heard, he once had this girl over, getting in the mood and all, soft lights, sexy music, she slinks over to the bar and puts her hand into the ice bucket to grab some ice for her drink. Well, there was no ice, but she sure as hell got a surprise. Kev always said that because she had put her hand in his piss that was as good as grabbing his cock, so that one counts as a notch on the bedpost, so to speak.

Sorry, I got sidetracked there for a moment.

Err, where was I going with this… oh yeah, I remember. It was a few years back now, on a Friday night. I turned up at Kev’s about 6.30ish as per usual, rang the doorbell, seconds later he stepped through looking like Huggy Bear from Starsky and Hutch. Seriously, he had this purple hat on with the biggest damned feather sticking out it. After staring at it for a few seconds like a big zit had just appeared on the side of his head, I follow the line of his hat until our eyes meet.
“Whaddaya think then?” said Kev.
I gave him the once over, taking extra time to take in the hat and feather this time, shrugged my shoulders and told him he looked like a pimp.
“That’s the idea brutha” he said “That’s the idea”

Remember how I said he was as Welsh as Welsh could be, I meant it. This dude could have played rugby and ate daffodils for breakfast. He never really talked about himself that much, but the few bits of info I managed to get out of him I managed to piece together that he had been brought up on Anglesey in a place called Amlwch. Just him and his mum from what I gather. I guess something bad had happened with his dad, as he never mentioned him.

Back to the night in question. We went for some fodder first, just to line our stomachs before hitting the town. I had my usual cheeseburger and he went for some kebab combo thing smothered in chilli sauce. I never asked what was in it, it smelt revolting, and knowing the place where we usually went it could have been alive and well that afternoon, until is was hit by the kebab shop owner’s car on his way to work that night.

After scoffing down the nosh, I asked what the pimp outfit was in aid of.
“I’m gonna get me an Angel brutha” he replied “And then I’m gonna make my way to heaven… if you know what I mean”.
He smiled his big toothy grin, the one that told a thousand stories all on its own. I knew what he meant, but there was something different about him, about us, about this night. I just couldn’t put my finger on it. As we made our way to the first stop on the many bars that usually made up our Friday nights, I got thinking. He was always talking about girls he had slept with, doing all manner of things to them…

Speaking of which, he once told me about this one girl he always called the ‘Dozy Dragon’. She got this name from just one night with Kev. She was going down on him, but she kept using her teeth a little too much for Kev’s liking, so he waited until he was about to shoot his load in her mouth and then smacked her on the back of her head. She gagged, forcing his man fat to come out of her nose. He always said that the look on her face reminded him of a Dozy Dragon, with big read eyes and white shit coming out of her nostrils, making them flair like that of a, well, a dragon I guess. Kev being Kev, far from acting like a gentleman the next morning, he went and told everyone he knew. I never found out what happened to the girl. This all happened well before I met him.

Anyway, what was I saying, oh yeah, the girls. He was always going on about how many he had slept with and that, but I never saw him with one, ever.

We reached the door of the first pub. I started to push my way in when I noticed that Kev had stopped at the door. I turned to look at him. For the first time, for as long as I had known him, he seemed to have a sad, far away look in his eyes. I quickly turned back and made my way outside to where Kev was standing. I asked him what was the matter.
“Hey, brutha, do you mind if we go somewhere else for a change?”
I gave him a stare, like a dog that had been shown a card trick, for as long as Kev and I had been hanging out, this had always been the first port of call. I asked him why didn’t he want to grab a pint here.
“Nah brutha, I just fancy a change, you know, this place has become a little too Chaz n’ Dave for my liking”.
For some reason, and to this day I don’t know why, this really irked me. I started to ask him what was wrong with this pub, we had been going there for ages, we knew everyone there, what was his problem all of a sudden? With each question I could feel myself getting more and more tense, like my instincts were telling the rest of my body to get ready for a fight.
“Nah brutha, don’t mean it like that, its just, you know, time is short and all”.
This confused the hell out of me. In all our time together I had never heard him talk like this. At this point I lost my rag with him. I told him straight, I was going to drink at this pub, if he wanted to join me he was more than welcome, but I was going for a pint. I pushed my way to the bar, ordered me a pint and got Kev a double vodka with ice, and I waited, and waited, and waited. That night I got bladdered, stumbled home and passed out on the couch.

The next day I woke up around 10.15. It felt like someone had set a woodpecker loose on my head through the night and had come to collect it just moments before I woke up. The taste in my mouth was what I would imagine cat shit would taste like; perhaps it was the shit of the cat Kev had eaten in his kebab the night before. Kev, yeah, I felt bad about what I had said. I was out of order. That had been the first argument I could remember having with him. I sat down on the couch with a mug of coffee trying to formulate an apology in my head, but I was still too hung over to think straight. So I sat back, turned on the TV and waited for a time where I felt I could see him again.

A few days had passed since the argument outside the pub. I hadn’t heard from Kev at all, but this was not surprising, after all, each Friday night was like an arranged marriage, I just turned up and we did what we always did. I had been thinking a lot about what I had said to him and decided that I would go and see him after work.

I arrived at Kev’s door at around 6 o’clock that night. I stood there looking at his house for a few moments, took a deep breath and pressed the doorbell. Then I waited, and waited, and waited. A few minutes had slipped by and still there was no answer. I tried the doorbell again. Still nothing. I began to bang on the door with my fist, each hit being louder than the last, I started to shout his name as I banged, the side of my hand was starting to hurt from the punishment I was giving the door. After what seemed like an eternity I heard a voice ask me question.
“Can I help you?”
I turned to my side to see who had asked me this. There stood an old lady, around 60 years of age, still in her slippers. I asked her if she knew if Kev was in. She glared at me like I had asked to explain to me the theory of relativity or something. I told not to worry because I was a friend of his.
“There is no Kevin that lives there, that’s old Mrs Whittleworths house”
I gave her a look of utter confusion. I asked her to repeat what she had just said.
“That’s Mrs Whittleworths house. Oh she’s really old, about 90 or so I think. She moved here a short while ago, the council relocated her after…”
I didn’t hear what she said after that. My thoughts started to race. I began to look around to see where I was, just to make sure I was on the right street.
“Are you ok?” asked the old lady. I didn’t reply.
A few moments passed, I don’t know how long, time seemed irrelevant to my situation at that point, I could have been there days and I wouldn’t have noticed. My thoughts were brought back to reality by the voice of the old lady.
“Kevin… Kevin… You know something, I think there was a Kevin that used to live there, oh, but that was many years ago, well, you would have only been a nipper then I guess”.
I stared at the old lady with intent. I could hear the words coming out of her mouth, but none of it was making any sense. I told her that I had seen him last night, that I had met him here like I did every Friday, going back for longer than I could remember.
“You couldn’t have,” She said. “I heard he had died years ago, hit by a car or something, right here on the street”
Again I looked at her. My head was spinning faster and faster, I couldn’t make a coherent thought in my head. I turned around and started to run. The old lady shouted something, but I couldn’t make it out from all the noise inside my skull. I ran as fast as I could, I just wanted to get home. I had run so hard for so long that the sweat started to sting my face, or maybe they were tears, I couldn’t tell. A thousand thoughts raced through my brain at the same time. All that time I had spent with Kev, he was real, I had seen him, I had shook his hand… hadn’t I?

I reached the door to my flat. My hands seemed like lead weights as I tried to put the key into the lock. Fumbling around like a child with a square block trying to get it through the round hole. The keys fell to the floor. My legs had turned to jelly by this time. I kept asking myself what the hell was going on, what sort of fucked up joke was this. I slowly bent down to pick up my keys, not wanting to fall over. As I scrambled around amongst the litter and muck that had gathered in the corners of the porch way, I heard a voice behind me.
“Hey brutha, we need to talk”

Nice story, Seenoevil. I know this might defeat the whole point, but is there a follow-up? Part of me loves the idea of formulating your own ending, but part of me wants to see what really happens next.

HERE IS MY SHORT STORY- A BASIS FOR MY SCREENPLAY 'THE NASTY'. please cmment

"He smiled at the man with a feindish look in his eyes. the one eye on his left being larger than the other but only by a fraction.

the man comes in.

'oooh you would not believe what happened to me today!' he said and put a shotgun under his head and pulling the trigger. his brains and PLASMA spray over the wooden wall and ceilings. the wife screams and cries all the time!!!

'I knew him so well!' she cried. but it was too late for him!!! his body fallen to the floor with blood and horrid brain matter everywhere but she just licked it up trying to consume him.

their son walked in and says 'wat are you doing mommy'

im eating your fathers brain so hell never really leave me- he'll be inside mommy inside her little tummy now you be a good boy and go to BED NOW!!!!!

he went to bed and all was quiet again lick lickj licking.

by mornign she had cleaned up and eaten all the brain. go to bed now she sid to herself but could not!. #


the end.s

Haha, nice. Is it a metaphor?

i can't say for a fact but personally my interpretation was that it's an anti-evolution rant, am i right mr. author?

Oh, go on then, just for you.



Chapter 2:

Inside my flat, the both of us sat facing each other on adjacent sofas. A million and one questions formed in my head, all failing to reach my mouth. Who? What? Where? When? Why?
After an age had passed, Kev finally broke the silence.
“I guess you would like to know what’s going on,” he said.
DAMN STRAIGHT, I thought, as visions of what had happened with the old lady came flooding back like a memory of one-night-stand. No answer came out. I just sat there and stared.
“I’ll take your silence as a ‘yes’ then, shall I?” He said, making himself more comfortable. I just nodded.
“Ok then brutha, first off, your not crazy, I am here, this is me”. This came as a huge relief, although, I still wasn’t sure about the whole scenario.
“However, secondly, yes, I am what you would call dead”. I let out a nervous laugh. Not that I thought what he had said was funny, far from it, but my mind was starting to melt under the heat of my current situation. I asked him, after a couple of attempts, what the hell was going on.
“Good question brutha, good question, but all in due time” came the reply.
“Now, what you consider to be dead and what is actually dead are two different things. I am dead as you know it, but on the grand scale of things, I am far from dead” Another nervous laugh breeched the air. I told Kev that I needed a drink. As I stood up to move to the kitchen Kev said, “Good idea, get me one too will ya, brutha?”
This made me stop dead in my tracks. I turned to face him, giving him a look like a small child attempting to understand the complexities of Chaos Theory.
“Hey, I can still enjoy a drink with the rest of ya’ll”, I stared at him for a few moments, attempting to get my head around this notion. Failing miserably I just shrugged my shoulders and carried on to the kitchen.
There I got two glasses and poured us both a vodka. I had been saving it for a special occasion, or until a time that I needed it. This seemed like an appropriate time as any. I opened the kitchen draw to get my emergency packet of fags. I hadn’t smoked for nearly a year now, but I had always kept a spare packet, just in case. I picked up the two glasses, put the bottle underneath my arm and grabbed a teacup to use as an ashtray, and then I returned to the living room that had a talking dead guy on one of my sofas.
I sat down opposite Kev, placing a his drink in front of him, mine in front of me and the bottle directly between us. I sat back and sparked up.
“Hey, since when had you started to smoke again?” Said Kev. I ignored him.
“You know, those things’ll kill ya”. I looked at him as if to say, ‘yeah, and you should know’. We both sat there for a few moments, and then, as if someone had told the funniest joke in the world, we both began to roar with laughter.
This continued for a few moments, no words being exchanged, not that I could have spoken if I had tried. A couple of more drinks followed when I finally plucked up the courage to ask Kev some questions. First one that I asked came in the form of three simple short words. What The Fuck?
“Yeah brutha” said Kev, finally gaining some composure, “I know, it fucked with my head for a while” He started to laugh again.
“Right, ok” he said, once again controlling himself. “This is where you are going to have to bare with me, this shit gets deep”.
“Now, when you die, you die. However, sometimes when folk die they are not ready to die, or it is seen by the powers that be that you are not finished with what they had planned for you. Hence me being here”
This just made me want another drink even more.
“Ok, let me expand. First off, there is a god”.
This made me roar with laughter again. I couldn’t tell you if it was the drink or the weirdness of the last few days, but tears started to roll down my face with the absurdity of it all. After a few moments I noticed that Kev wasn’t laughing. He still had a big grin on his face, stretching from ear to ear, showing more pearly whites that a great white shark, but this sight certainly helped me gain my composure a great deal faster than a few moments before.
“All right brutha” he said after I had seemed to calm down a bit. “I can see that you aren’t going to get this too well at the moment”. I nodded in agreement, but with that over enthusiastic drunk nod that people tend to do after a few too many.
“Ok, I have an idea, let me show you”.

Excellent stuff, Seeno! Am enjoying it.

here is a short story that is based on TRUE events in my own life:!


my sister's boyfriend's name is adam and he is spanish. it's not a very spanish name but it's because he was born in england and then his family moved to spain. he is very tall and pale but he seems nice enough. one thing i noticed is that my dogs and cats are all TERRORFIED of him! whenever he is around they bark and bark as though they are TERRORFIED of him!

i started a running joke saying "oh it is because he is a vampire! that they are scared!" and everyone thought it was quite funny. then the other day my cats and dogs all BARKED at him again and i pulled out my hand held mirror and said "haha look everyone adam is a vampire he has doesn't have a shadow!" and to my surprise and fright he actually DIDN'T have a reflection in the mirror! he stared at me and began to talk but i just squinted my eyes and gritted my teeth and said "not today mr vamp" ire, and SMASHED the mirror in his face! then i drop kicked him to the ground and and grabbed my stake and stabbed it in his heart!

he exploded in a spray of vampire juice which went every where. all over my hands. i looked up at my shocked mother, then down at my hands, then i began to suck my fingers. gingerly at first, they with passion. i drank all his goo and now it is ME who is the vampire! GFD!

I've been at it again - my apologies.


Will's booted footsteps echoed loudly off the wood walls as he strode deliberately into the saloon, and his six-shooter in his holster seemed to weigh him down to one side. He took his hat off in one greasy hand and scratched his thick hair with the other, as he shuffled across to the bar and sat on a stool in the corner.

He felt extremely itchy as he nervously peered around the room from underneath his beige leather hat. A shadow approached him from his right, and he snapped his head around to meet the heavily-eyebrowed eyes of the fat, unshaven bartender.

"'Kin ah getcha?" he grunted.

"Double whiskey" muttered Will, turning his eyes back to the room full of drinkers, gamblers, thieves, scum and lowlife. He adjusted himself in his stool - the handle of the revolver was digging into his hips - and wiped his forehead again with the back of his hand. He took the small grungy shot glass from the bartender and, noticing how the liquid wobbled as his hand shook, downed it in a single gulp.

"One more" he said to the moody-faced bartender. He looked up quickly when the cheery piano music stopped abruptly, and saw what he had come for - Diego.

Diego, who had just thrown open the saloon doors and was surveying the bar like a king surveys his kingdom, was the smelliest, nastiest, meanest, most dirty-fighting murderous bastard you could ever hope not to meet. His Mexican skin was darker than most, and his sticky hair peeped over the top of his head, six-and-a-half feet above the floorboards.

With a hand like jelly, Will downed his second shot and stood up shakily.
"DIEGO!!" he shouted.

Before the silence of the saloon could make an impact on Will, Diego was in front of him, and struck him hard across the face - the room turned onto its side and became a hue of red.

"'The hell 'you think you are!?"

Will coughed violently as Diego's hard black boot was planted into his gut.

"Shout at me like that!? Pathetic gringo, I'll make you sorry!"

Will heard a thunk as the boot came back and slammed against his ribs. He flinched as the boot came down hard in front of his face, but was surprised to see it facing away from him. As he tried to focus on his surroundings rather than the sickening pain inside him, Will realised that somebody in the saloon was arguing, albeit calmly, with Diego, who was becoming extremely loud and frustrated.

Will craned his neck to catch a glimpse of his apparant saviour from behind Diego's boot, and saw a man stood up in the middle of the room. He had long dark hair, but unlike everybody else, it seemed clean. He had deep brown eys, which were half closed, and he stood with his arms outstretched from both sides. His small beard was twitching and moving as the man talked quietly and directly to Diego.

The next two and a half seconds were almost inperceptibly fast. Diego shouted an obscenity, drew his gun and fired at the man. The man, seemingly unharmed, shoved his palms in Diegos direction. There was a flash and a bang and Diego seemed to be hit with two bolts of lighting, and was flung hard against the far wall. He slumped down, dead, and the stranger with the long hair lowered his palms to his sides. Will thought he caught a glimpse of two identical wounds on his outstretched palms before they were hidden from sight.

The man looked Will in the eye.

"Jesus!" Will cried in shock, looking from the man to Diego and back again.

The man nodded, and left the saloon quietly.









- - -

I did write another story a few minutes ago, but it's late, and I really don't think I should post it. It's not edgy or anything, its just dumb. I wasn't really trying to write a story, I was just writing mindlessly, clearing all the garbage from my head and typing it up at the same time. Anyway I may post it tomorrow, but I may not - there's bunch of totally pointless violence in it (I know, I know, violence is cool, but in this case, as I said, it's just dumb).

Would love to see some more short stories from you guys!

I've been at it again, on something of a writing-spree lately. Enjoy!



I gripped the handle of the sword firmly in my hand and stared him down. He was so cocky, he said he didn't even need a shield. Yeah, right. He'd regret that soon enough. He smirked at me, running his fingers along the blade of his axe, and I knew he was scorning my use of a shield.

"You ready to play?" he growled. I narrowed my eyes and nodded, saying nothing.

"Then COME AT ME!!!"

I didn't waste a moment. He raised the axe above his head, and I lunged at him. My shield struck him in the belly. He doubled over with a grunt. I spun my leg around and brought him to one knee.

"Still cocky!?" I shouted, and raised my sword. THUD!! He sent me backwards using the handle of the heavy axe. As it came down again, I blocked it with my shield, which buckled like cardboard. I flung the useless scrap aside, and charged again with my- SMASH!

We both spun around. I put my hands up to my head.

"You prick!!" he shouted, rushing over to the broken PC and kicking my shield aside.

"Dave, I'm sorry! I just got, you know, carried away."

"Carried away!? Jeff, that was my PC! All my work documents were on there! The sales figures from last month!!"

"Well it was your idea to have a swordfight in your office! I mean, come on!!" I sighed, and fingered my sword. "Come on, that was just ASKING for trouble!"

"Yeah, well if I'd known you were going to throw stuff around like that, I wouldn't have bothered. I just thought it'd liven up lunch-breaks a bit."

We stood in silence for a few moments as Dave sifted through the wreckage of his computer, shaking his head. Suddenly, the door flew open and Mr. Connors stormed in.

"What the hell's going on in here!?" he bawled, looking from us to the computer to the weapons.

"Where did you GET those things?! Is that even legal!?"

"Sir, I can explain" started Dave, but I put my hand on his shoulder.

"Dave," I whispered, "all differences aside - we're going to have to work together on this one."

He hesitated, and I saw that familiar gleam in his eye. We were on the same team again. Standing up, we nodded at each other, and let out our best war-cries.

"AAAAAAGGGHHHHH!!!!!"

"What the-!?" was all Mr. Connors could manage before we splashed his tyrannical blood over the office walls. We charged down the hallway, side by side!! Anybody foolish enough to stand in our way was slain indiscriminately!!! YES - this was the brotherly bond we'd once known!! The spirit within us was alive and raging once more with the voices of our enlightened ancestors!!!

Me and Dave stumbled to a halt as Doris the cleaning lady barred our way with the cleaning trolley, mop in hand.

"Oh, I'm sorry boys - one moment, I'll move this- URGH!!!" Dave delivered a mighty kick to her stomach which sent her weapon spinning from her hand. One blow from the handle of his axe sent her tumbling down the stairwell.

"LET'S GO!!" I shouted, and we hurried on. Office grunts from all forms appeared in our path, some wielding sandwiches, others deadly cups of hot coffee - a few smooth swings of my blade saw them quite literally dis-armed.

Finally we were at the main entrance.

"Brother, look!!" I pointed. "Sunlight!!" We charged forwards towards the doors, as the receptionist approached us with a questioning look on her face.

"What are you guys-" HAAA! I cut her throat with the tip of my blade as I ran past and licked the warm blood off my cheek. We used one last burst of energy and laid the double-doors to waste. However, as we emerged, squinting in the sunlight, we were greeted with the sight of a whole squadron of authorities, their police cars and handguns glinting in the noon sunlight.

I raised my sword above my head and gave my war cry, but a deafening crack ripped throuh the air, and my sword flew from my hand.

"Shit! Dave, they shot me!" I clutched my bleeding wrist.

"Jesus!" Dave threw down his axe and kneeled next to me. "Are you okay, mate?"

He turned to the police. "There's no need for that at all! Come on, we were just having a laugh!" He shook his head. The police moved in.

"Get down on the ground!!"

"Alright, alright!" Dave said, irritably, "but I really think you should call an ambulance - he's bleeding quite a lot."

As Dave was arrested and taken to the station, I sat in the ambulance, bandaged up, with a police escort. After a few moments, I spoke.

"After we've gone to the hospital, can I have my sword back please?

"No."

The End