Bryony by @JamaaLlamaa (480 Words)

Poison, it's really underrated isn't it? Just think of the times you could have cheerfully battered someone to death and change it so that you kill them and not actually exert any physical effort ~ fabulous. 

So, when Bryony finally tipped me over the edge from anger to blind rage I seemed entirely appropriate to start researching ways to make her suffer. I had heard of Belladonna, and although the name was not very accurate, Bryony having all the physical beauty of a moose on heat, I thought it would probably do the trick.

Google must have been invented for people wanting to kill people as it is so easy to find out anything you need. I mean I always thought it was just the berries that were poisonous, but oh no, the roots are the best bit apparently. Being the way I am, it wasn't that difficult to convince the silly cow I had gone all flower flower love child and was only drinking herbal tea and eating grass and shit so when I bunged her a cup of hot water with stuff floating in it, she simply smiled and took a big swig. How she didn't spit it all straight out I don't know, mine really was made with grass and it was bloody awful. 

We sat and chatted, whilst I furtively watched for the start of any reactions. I knew that sweating and rashes and suchlike were all part of it, but I honestly didn't know how long it took to attack the system so when, after half an hour or so, she started complaining of having a headache I suggested she went home and lay down ~ didn't want the ugly mare pegging out on my sofa did I? 

Later that day I got a phone call from her boyfriend, Lance (he's a twat as well), Bryony had apparently been rushed to hospital with some mysterious symptoms and was currently on life support in ITU. Honestly, my reaction was an Oscar winner, should I go and visit? Was there anything I could do? I was quite proud of myself actually. 

2 days later Bryony died ~ the Post Mortem showed she had died from the effects of ingesting Deadly Nightshade. Nobody was more shocked than me, as I told the Police, she had been fine when she was at mine, we had even made plans to go on a Girls Night Out later that week.     

The funeral was a big affair, a bit chavvy for my taste, all those flower spelling out words, but there was a good turn out and we had a right laugh in the pub afterwards; my resulting hangover was legendary. 

So Bryony is dead and I killed her, that's the basics of the matter. All in all she deserved it ~ No WAY does anyone criticize my dress sense and expect me not to react.


Dr Jays Lament (400 Words)

Afternoon surgery is such a bore; it's full of old people. I don't like old people their skin is too saggy and I don't trust it, they feel nasty, even with the gloves on.

I've just given Mrs Johansson what she thinks are anti-inflammatories for her knees but is in fact some top notch ecstasy  that my mate, Cool Wilhelm, brought back with him from the Dam. I miss Amsterdam, life was so much easier over there.

Next up is Mr Davis and his piles. I keep telling him he needs to stop straining and let things happen naturally, maybe even change his diet. But every week or so in he comes whining and moaning and showing me his arsehole.  Last time I pushed them back in he asked how I managed to do it with both my hands on his shoulders.  I told him to inhale from the bottle and give me a minute, he seemed happy enough with the reacharound in the end anyway.

This isn't what I signed up for; I became a doctor for the free drugs and all the pussy.

I should have become a surgeon, all those cool operations and the funky anaesthetics. I know one chap, Dai the sleep they call him, he was out for four days once. The lucky bastard.

I did a stint in theatre at med school, it was brilliant. We operated on that porn star; you know the one who set the world record for the most blow jobs in an hour, jaw like an anaconda on her. Anyway we did a vaginal tuck for her; it was and still is pioneering surgery. We fitted her with drawstrings tucked behind her flaps so when it gets a bit baggy or she is with a less than well-endowed colleague she can pull it all in. Of course she can let it all out as well should she star in a film a little more left-field.

They were halcyon days, still we work with what we've got don't we? 

I rummage around on my desk for the lube and poppers, wolf down a few Viagra and snap another pair of gloves on. I Sit for a moment or two stretching my fingers and letting the feel of the latex calm me.

Then I press the buzzer and call Mr Davis in.

It's going to be a long day.


Slipping Away by @Lucy_Magnuson (380 Words)

She could hear the alarms. A discordant scream from another time, another world. She wanted them silenced. Wanted to slip away. Wanted it to end.

Then the voices. There's always the voices. Calling her. Pleading for her to come back to them.

But the darkness was comforting. It was forgiving. She felt safe.

'Kate! KATE!' God damn you open your fucking eyes and come back to us.

She groaned. The noise was just audible over the alarms.

A new noise. A worse noise. The hiss of the suction.

She hated the suction. The way it robbed her of her blissful silence. Her peace.

Her eyes hurt. Why did her eyes have to hurt?

The lights. The bastards had put the lights onto her face. Her face that no longer fit. That no longer wanted to be part of this reality

She wanted it to go away. Far away.

They were shouting again.

Why wouldn't they all just shut the fuck up and let her go. Just drift away. They weren't important. None of it was any more. Just the silence. The silence they wouldn't let her have

A new noise. An electronic whine. It hurt her ears. Oh why the hell did the hearing have to come back first?

A voice. 'Charging!'

Another voice 'Kate for fucksake Kate! We need you don't do this to us!'

Bastards. It was always her. Always. They always wanted her to solve everything. To be the one with the answers. To save the day. To keep coming back. Well not this time. This time she was determined. She was fighting back. Fighting to let go. The empty fentanyl syringe by her side was testament to her determination. Why couldn't they see this?


Fuck that hurt. Really hurt. She opened an eye. Blinded by the theatre lights. She closed her eyes again and groaned


'KATE!! Wake up you bitch'


Fucksake this was getting ridiculous...She made a noise. 'Fuck off you bastards and leave me alone'

'KATE! Will you bloody wake up save your fucking patient'

She looked up. Saw the source of the tinny alarms. The ECG...the fucking ECG SHIT

She wanted out. But the fucking patients always seemed to get in the way. The bastards.


Third Rock From The Sun. (375 Words)

I slowly drift back into the waking world, rub the sleep from my eyes and check my watch, Six o'clock I don't even know if that's morning or evening any more. Dragging myself out of bed I go over to the window, the view lost its charm a long time ago, staring into the infinite just makes me realise how alone I really am.

There is no time dwell on my failings or feelings there is work to be done. First I check my bloods and do my exercises, make sure I'm in tip top condition both physically and mentally. Secondly I check the status of the pod, all systems are online and everything appears to be still working. 

So that's nice.

Lastly its the daily routine of the video diary, as time drags on I have less and less to say and the entries are getting shorter and shorter but its vital to keep a log ... apparently. The blinking red light, should be my cue to start talking but I find myself blinking back at it, trying to find my words.

"Day 14,365 the time is now ... Nine o'clock, I couldn't honestly tell you what end of the day that is mind. Pod status is good, blood levels are good, body fitness is good. Everything is good and on course. 

There is a new looking system on the horizon. Eight planets of varying sizes orbiting a medium sized sun. Most of the planets don't look too promising ... apart from the third one in.

Its not massive by any means, I'm picking up massive levels of Iron, Oxygen, Silicon, Magnesium and Sulphur. There appears to be large quantities of water and some nice sizeable chunks of land.

Its early days yet but this looks like the one for us gentlemen, I'll keep an eye on it for the next few days or so but if I was you I'd start packing your bags.

Daddy has found you a new home!

Over and out."

I switch the camera off and send the broadcast on its way, I'm that far away now it'll be months before anyone picks it up. 

By the time they do I will be almost there, I have a good feeling about this one.


Wilhuff' Grand Idea (497 Words)

Tarkin spreads the crudely drawn picture out across the table and gestures for Palpatine to have a look.

"What is it Tarkin?" croaks the emperor.

"It's a battlestation my lord." comes the proud reply.

"It looks like a beach ball."

"Can a beach ball destroy a planet my lord?" Tarkin asks snottily.

"Depends on how hard you throw it I guess."

"Well this battlestation with its superlaser could ..."

"You would have to fill it with sand, put a bit of weight behind it, maybe even throw it from space ... wait what did you say?"

Tarkin smiles inwardly, thankful he finally has the old man's attention, he knows this is a bold plan but senses that if done well he could finally be promoted to Grand Moff.

"Call me old man again Wilhuff and I shall be forced to let  Mr. Vader choke you, its his new trick, he's gone through four maids this week already."

"Sorry my Lord." grovels a blushing Tarkin.

"Carry on." Sighs the emperor, waving a withered, claw like, hand in a bored fashion.

"This battle station my lord, once fully operational would be capable of destroying a  planet with its superlaser, that would fire out of this cute little dent just here."

To further bring home his point Tarkin makes "Pew Pew Pew " noises.

"That would need to be one hell of a laser Tarkin, just how big would this monstrosity need to be?"

"160km in diameter" Mumbles Tarkin.

"WHAT?" shrieks Palpatine.

"160km my lord."

"Have you seen the price of steel these days? this is almost as stupid as the idea you had last month for the super-duper-star-destroyer. Big doesn't always mean better ... look at Yoda, he is like a midget ninja ....  ninja midget?"

"It would house troops and ships and ... stuff as well my lord."

"So its an intergalactic oil rig without the drills? They can't watch films on there you know, is against the law. And what about food .. and what would you do about all the rubbish?"

"I have already thought of that!" Beams Tarkin. "I have found this creature, the Dianoga, that would live in the garbage compacter and eat ... stuff"

"Where would it go while the rubbish was being compacted?"

"Umm it would swim .. somewhere?

"Why on earth would you have water in the garbage compacter?"

"So the Dianoga could swim my lord!" Tarkin triumphantly declares.

"Jesus wept" Mumbled the emperor. " And what's this line running across the middle of your beach ball?"

"That's a small trench , that I think would be too small for a ship to fly down but  I have lined with guns anyway. Have I mentioned how many guns this would have?"

"How many guns would it have?" Sighed Palpatine who could feel one of his migraines coming on.

"Lots sir!"

"Tarkin if I let you go and build this will you promise to leave me alone?"

"Oh yes my lord!

"Good, now get out of my sight before I change my mind."


About Last Night by @JamaaLlamaa (474 Words)

You walked in and time stopped ~ I didn't understand the phrase before last night. Genuinely life around me stopped happening, it faded into nothing. 

You looked the same, that funny bit of hair that I always tried to make lie flat at the back of your head still bobbed merrily; your eyes searching the room, never still even when you were. Did you know I would be there? You were wearing that shirt I bought you, the one I love to rest my head on when it covered your chest.

I put my drink down, amazingly my hand wasn't trembling even though my soul was; catching sight of myself in the mirror I looked calm and collected ~ except for my eyes, which seemed to be beacons of confusion and fear. Excusing myself I walked quickly to the bathroom and sank down on the side of the bath. How the HELL did you come to be there? My life didn't include you any more, you had been expunged from my heart and soul. Suddenly I was angry ~ how DARE you return me to this hideous sense of confusion and sadness after I had worked so hard to rid myself of it you Bastard. 

I had a choice, either I could walk back out and brazen it out or I could slink out into the shadowy night and avoid any chance of contact. My head was full of memories, all the talking, hours of it, the laughter, and the sweet scent of you after we had made love and I lay safely in your arms. You swore to me that you would be mine forever, no-one could part us. And the other memories, the rows and the tears, cruel words and even crueller actions, the unbearable pain of loss and longing that washed over me even now, after all this time. 

I had to get away, I couldn't be that person again, that trembling, weak half woman that the people in my new life wouldn't recognise. Quietly I slipped away, I could phone in the morning and apologise. 

The streets were slick with summer rain, as it fell I hoped it hid the tears streaming down my face. I got home, bolted the doors and reached for the vodka bottle in the fridge; I hadn't touched it for months but by God I needed it now. 

I thought back to that last night, the way you had looked, so calm and detached when you told me you were leaving, not for anyone else but just because I wasn't good enough for you anymore. The pain made me breathless, as it had done at the time, the disbelief washed over me in the same way, leaving me gasping for breath. 

And I remembered the knife in my hand ~ and that's how I knew it couldn't be you.


Kevin McIntosh, Wizard In Waiting. (497 Words)

The walk to the stage feels like it takes forever, whereas previous students journeys to accept their awards were met with polite applause and the occasional heckle his was met with deathly, awkward silence.

He knew it was going to be like this. "Most Improved Student." All it really meant was an entire term had passed and no one had vanished, or caught fire, or found themselves as a different species.

It was all his parents fault, it wasn't that they were ashamed of his powers it was more they didn't like the idea of sending him away to a "special school".

They even did the inverted comma thing with their fingers. "Special". As if being a natural warlock was some type of disease.

If he had been allowed to go to a wizarding school, none of this would have happened. His powers would have been celebrated and honed, he would have learnt to control them and realise the potential he had within him.

But instead here he was at Ballyforth comp, the school his brothers went to and as his mother was apt to remind him the school the local mp went to when he were a lad.

And if a great man like him can get ahead in life why should Kevin McIntosh get any special treatment?

There was that word again, "special."

So he trudged his way up to the stage where the head in his finest gown and mortarboard stood nervously waiting to hand over the small, cheap, solid tin trophy.

As he made his way up the steps, he stumbled and landed face first at the headmasters feet, the assembly hall erupted into a chorus of giggles.

"Silence!" Bellowed the head, picking up young Kevin.

"Just keep calm eh lad?" The head muttered, hoping he could style this out and end the year on a blood free high.

"So the award for most improved student of the year goes to Kevin McIntosh!"

The head hands over the gaudy trinket and tries to start a round of applause, only a few people join in and Kevin starts his way back to his seat.

As he reaches the steps, some brave soul, safe at the back, shouts "Mind your step Wizbit!"

This gets the reaction he hoped for and the hall once more bursts into laughter.

Kevin drops the trophy, it clanks, cheaply down the steps, falling in slow motion.

He clenches his fists and closes his eyes, when he reopens them they are glowing red.

"Fara í brott" shouts Kevin in a tongue he doesn't know and pushes his arms outward, fingers splayed.

A ball of energy leaves the child engulfing the hall with a satisfying, warm "Whooompf" sound.

And then they are gone, the hall is empty.

Kevin picks his trophy up, polishes it with his sleeve, smiles at the reflection and tosses it over his shoulder.

"Most improved student my arse" he says to no one and walks out of the hall.


At the bottom of the garden by @ned400 (499 Words)

The stark grey sky leached color from everything, even turning the moon's brilliance to hues of ash.
The faces watched him again,the eyes of long dead corpses were white now, bleached from the sun.

Not that any regular sunlight seemed to ever penetrate the glen.There was a distinct lack of noise, as if no woodland creature dared to live there beligning the lush vegetation and trees around. A circle of hooded figures stood out against the shade, blood red robes glowing under the wash of moonlight.

The robes looked pristine,glowing in the dark,at first glance,but upon closer inspection stains glistened luridly beneath the moonlight. The marks at first could be mistaken for blood but the thick stains were not crimson. Instead they looked like inky black pools of darkness, welling up from within, gathering in place and overflowing like a morbid growth. Trickles of darkness flowed down the robed folds onto the earth, dropping into small puddles,gathered in streams and collected into a pool.
Where it soaked into the ground it sank deep, occasionally bubbling to the surface, dark of matter and purpose.

The smell of the diseased mud sickened him,making him gag. He tried to move away, unsure why he was here to watch the desecration of, what once seemed a sacred place. He stood behind the red robed phantoms hidden behind a bush out of sight. The smell was so overpowering that it stung his nostrils so covering his mouth with his sleeve he made to leave.

The mud stopped him, encasing his feet, clinging to his shoes.
It seemed to hold him fast and any movement he took to free himself, was to no avail. After what seemed like an eternity one foot was freed swiftly followed by the other. Moving fast to stop sinking he struggled to get away.

Cold stares penetrated his back and instinct made him look over his shoulder to make sure that nobody had seen him.

Nothing.. they were gone. Completely vanished. 

Turning round fully,  he opened his mouth in astonishment,incredulous at how swiftly the red robes had gone. Moving to leave he stopped. Stock still.

Fear dried his mouth and turn his stomach to ice, his heart began to thud in his chest. In front of him the red robes materialised out of nowhere.

One raised an arm towards him and the group mimicked moving as one.

"They killed us! You let them ." Hissed the  voices in union.

He tried to step backwards, his legs buckling under him, throwing him to the mud below, arms flailing in a attempt to stay upright .

They reached out to grab him and ............

"Percy Bungle. If you don't stop playing in that garden, I'll clip you round the ear. And clear those leaves up." Shrieked Percy's mom fiercely.

"Yes Mom. Sorry Mom."

"Soft in the head." Mrs Bungle muttered slamming the door behind her.

His mother already forgotten, Percy picked up the rake, scattering the leaves pretending they were Roman legionnaires..


The Hunger (307 words)

She cracks her eyes open and stretches her still weak limbs, runs her tongue across the smooth, spittle coated gums still yet to sport teeth.

Teeth that will soon be used to tear flesh asunder but not now, not yet. She is still weak, she is still helpless but the hunger is there. Its always there.

Gnawing away at her very core, never quite sated.

Now fully awake she surveys her surroundings, everything is still as it was when she finally admitted defeat and gave into sleep a few short hours ago. 

Warm and content in the darkness she wriggles back into the comfort of her nest, briefly debates going back to sleep for a while. An hour or two more wouldn't hurt, would they?

Then the hunger rears its demon head again and an involuntary, pained cry escapes her lips, she makes herself jump and whimpers at the frustration of it all, she is utterly at its mercy.

It writhes again bringing forth more pained cries and she is thrashing now, trying to fight it off as it smothers her very being, she can't give in, she won't, she can beat it this time.  

But its too late, they have awoken.

Words are exchanged, words she barely understands and can't yet replicate but she gets the gist of the argument.

"Whose turn is it?"

"I did the last one."

"Well I have to be up in an hour."

"Well you're awake now, no point going back to sleep you'll only feel worse."


A door slams.

Then footsteps are padding towards her, strong arms suddenly reach into her sanctuary and pluck her, gently out.

"Come on princess, stop all that noise, daddy has got a headache."

The rubber teat of the bottle nuzzles against her lips, she suckles hungrily and is soon content again.

For now.


What Goes Up Must Come Down (393 Words)

Debris stopped raining from the sky, the dust started to settle and the full extent of the explosion was slowly revealed.

A soot covered youth holding a zippo lighter, coughs a lungful of smoke back up, feels for his recently departed eyebrows, blinks a few times trying to take in what has just happened and says "Dude we are so screwed."

The dude in question is another youth equally as soot covered, equally as eyebrowless the only major difference is this one is a little bit on fire.

"Dude you're on fire!"

The dude on fire  looks at his cohort and shouts in the fashion of the newly deaf "What? I can't hear anything!" 

Quickly followed up with "Shit I'm on fire, why didn't you tell me?"

The deaf aflame youth, remembering all he ever learnt form public information films does the classic drop and roll manoeuvre and his smouldering inferno is soon extinguished.

Picking himself up and dusting himself off, he strolls over to his partner in crime who is sat looking dumbstruck into the smouldering crater of their creation.

"Shit that's a big hole" The deaf one shouts to his mate.

"What? I can't hear anything I think it's because of the bang" Comes the reply.

"What? I can't hear anything I think it's because of the bang" He replies in turn.

Both look dumbly at the other, Penny still yet to drop.

"Where do you think she went?" Shouts the one to the other.

"What? Do you think she is ok? I didn't see where she went." Shouts the other.

Neither hears the scream that starts to fade into range, nor do they see the ever growing speck descending from the heavens.

Changing from a black dot to a bigger black dot, to a distinctly pink and feminine dot, to an actual female body wearing a pink jumpsuit and screaming blue murder on her way down.

They miss all of this but they do notice the large deluge of water dumped onto them following the pink blots landing in the duck pond.

They turn to look at each other and shout in unison "Penny!" and run over to the pond.

Penny the pink blot is sat in the murky waters with a bewildered smile on her face.

"Dudes that was amazing but we should probably use less gunpowder next time!"


Happily Ever After. (368 Words)

Once upon a time, there was a princess, who through a series unfortunate and convoluted events eventually needed rescuing by her guardian angel. The angel saved the day, the princess fell in love, the angel fell in love. The angel gave up his wings, his place in heaven and became mortal for his love.They were married and lived happily ever after.

And that's where most fairy tales end. 

But not this one.

The Princess and her Angel did live happily ever after, for a while. There were no more bizarre events involving evil step mothers who are really witches, no curses to be broken or dragons to slay. Life in the kingdom returned to normal.

Soul crushingly tedious, mind bogglingly mundane normality.

Gabe our former winged hero did alright for a while, he didn't mind the whole not being able to fly any more and having to breathe again was novel for a while. He  took to wearing clothes with much gusto and loved a good hat.

It was the little things that annoyed him to start with like having to wave at every single person they go past in the carriage, the never ending opening ceremonies, the feasts, the posing for portraits ... though he did like being on money.

And god dammit he missed his harp, Earth harps just didn't have the same pitch as he was used to.

But he loved his Princess, so he made do with inferior stringed instruments and developed a super efficient waving system.

And then one day he noticed the smell.

A faint whiff at first, like milk on the turn but it grew stronger everyday. No amount of bathing or aftershave covered it for long and it clung to everyone to some degree.

Apart from babies, they, as long as they didn't need changing, smelled beautiful, full of life and potential.

On the other end of the scale old people were the worst, they smelt like road kill on a hot summers day. Worse still when they tried to mask it with lavender.

Each day  he awoke older and nearer death, each day his own stench grew worse. That's when he realised the true price of mortality.


A Rainy Day In Midgard by @ned400 (500 words)

Thor stared out of the window looking out of his room at Tony Starks mansion, that the avengers used as a base.

The rainclouds were thick and heavy covering the city scape in grey.

Thoroughly bored Thor thought he would give anything for another Chitauri invasion or a fight against the Surtur with Beta Ray Bill.

The Bifrost was damaged meaning he couldn't even travel to Juidenheim to fight a giant.

All the other avengers had taken a leave of absence or a vacation as Stark had put it. Stark himself has taken Peppa to an island in the Pacific whilst Hawkeye was hunting in Nebraska and the Hulk and Capt America had gone to Seattle for an anger management course.

Alone the great god of thunder was getting restless. The rain did not bother him, except the last time he had gone outside and flown to the top of the Statue of Liberty, Nick Fury had scolded him about " unnecessary lightning activity scaring the city".

A knock at the door interrupted his musings. Opening it Thor discovered a small metal disc and an stack of cardboard boxes in the corridor.

Thor thumbed the activation button on the disc, a mini projector that Stark favoured. An image of tony stark in bemuda shorts rose from the device, with peppa sunning herself in the backgrond.

"Hey Thor! Since your home alone bore,I had Jarvis order you some stuff to keep you busy. A bit of D.I.Y. You know Pimp your crib for the ladies." Stark smirked

"Tony!" Scolded Peppa.

Grinning sheepishly Stark replied "Anyway leave you to it big man. Have fun."

The image vanished and Thor looked at the boxes outside his room.
"Well" Thor thought. "It can't hurt. How hard could it be
Mortals do it."

The picture frames went up easily, well once he realised using Mjolnir was a bad idea. Even the lightest tap left gaping holes in the walls or crushed the hooks into oblivion but the pictures hid the damage.

The shelves were harder, silly slivers of wood kept breaking and couldn't even hold a book.
Thor got the hang of them by slowly pushing the shelves into the wall. Once you brushed the dust away they sort of floated, and the angles looked rather jaunty.

Moving on Thor mused out loud
"The God of Thunder doesn't need instructions."
Fourteen hours,two pots of coffee, a box of Krispy Kremes and two trips to the hardware shop for a phillips screwdriver and an allen key later  and he was finished. The wardrobe leaned to the left the doors not quite fitting right. They also covered a crack in the floor where he had thrown Mjolnir after banging his thumb. It still throbbed.

The chest of drawers only had 3 sides, after he sat on it by accident. The bedside cabinet was built upside down and he had a huge pile of bits left over.
Thank the old gods there wasn't an Ikea on Asgard.


Tony's Day Off (489 words)

It is a beautiful day in Manhattan, a year has passed since Loki and his army of Chitauri minions lay waste to New York. A year has passed since the Avengers first joined forces and saved the day for the first time.

Amidst the reconstruction work and in the light of a new day for mankind, life is returning to normal.

Genius, billionaire, playboy, philanthropist Tony Stark is at a bit of a loose end. The world doesn't need saving, there are no new tweaks to work on for the Ironman suit, no meetings to attend, for the first time in as long as he can remember he has nothing to do and it is driving him crazy.

His beautiful assistant and love of his life Pepper Potts half-jokingly suggests he run the hoover round. An hour later the Dyson is in bits as he is sure he can make the cyclone even more powerful and efficient.

He isn't wrong as when he fires it up; it promptly swallows the carpet and buries itself into the floorboards.
Sheepishly he turns it off, pries it out of the floor and puts it back in the closet without mentioning it to Pepper.

They had been on about redecorating anyway.

Vacuum cleaner destroyed he checks his emails, hoping for a heads up off Nick Fury. No joy but there is one from Bruce who wants to know if Stark is free for a round of golf later.

Tony shudders at the thought, he hasn't seen Banner for a while but the last time they played golf it ended … badly.

Bruce got stuck in a bunker on the 12th and yes Stark ... may have made fun of him a little, but Banner just lost it and Hulk turned up to play.

The club turned up a few miles away after it went through the side of a passing van, luckily no one was hurt. 

The ball is in a low orbit and should re-enter the atmosphere any week now according to Nasa.

So no, no golf today.

There is a load off the Captain, newly awake in the 21st century he has just discovered the internet and facebook, everyone is constantly bombarded with pokes, game invites they are tagged in pictures, asked to like photo's to save dying children.

The less said about the money he loaned him that Rogers then gave to a Nigerian "Prince" the better.

He's a nice lad but a little wet behind the ears.

He logs out and puts the tv on, flicks through the channels for a few hours finding nothing worth watching. Maybe he should just get an early night? He checks his watch only to find it's still the middle of the afternoon.

With a heartfelt sigh of defeat, he fires up the x-box and loses himself in Black ops for the remainder of the day.

Where is an evil genius when you need one?


Accursed (345 Words)

Forget everything the movies have ever taught you, especially Teenwolf, I've never met one of us who even likes basketball.

We don't parade around with our tops off looking moody or constipated and we don't wake up naked in the zoo in the morning.

Yeah ok so one time I did terrorise some tourists lost on the moor but they kind of deserved it.

Basically being a Werewolf is a bit of a pain the arse, it all starts a few days before the full moon, I get an overwhelming urge to piss up lamposts and need to shave twice a day.

One lad I know, didn't even know he was one of us until he found himself biting the postman one morning, ended up in the loony bin. Dude ate three nutters and a nurse before escaping.

Then when the moon does come everything goes haywire. your senses go into over drive, you want to sniff peoples arseholes all the time. And if you're unfortunate enough to be a digger forget about having a nice lawn again.

 The transformation itself is ... weird. I had to switch to contact lenses after my specs kept falling off and its best to sleep in the nude. I used to think dogs in clothes were funniest thing ever, then one night I woke up with four legs and wearing pyjamas, major pain in the ass getting out of them.

I've tried to raise awareness of our plight, even went on the telly with my ex wife.

Didn't pan out well to be honest, they played "Bark At The Moon" over my entrance and this angry little man just kept goading me, trying to get me to change, I tried explaining that because the show was being recorded two weeks before the full moon nothing would happen and he just kept going on at me.

So I bit him.

He charged me with assault.

Got my own back on him mind, I waited until the moon was out and went and did a massive wolf shit on his lawn.


Entrapment by @ned400 (500 Words)

Those two girls over there. Ideal, the perfect candidates. It's dark, desolate,and deathly quiet. Watching from the shadows they look inebriated, zig zagging by the row of cars, hands outstretched to steady themselves. 
Varsity sweatshirts identify the college students, no returning from a party. Another one I was'nt invited to.I'm not going to get upset, no, not tonight, Time to get even.
Will it be different from last time or once the rush of adrenaline kicks in, will it be a haze again. 
They near the last car in the row, so I move swiftly in the shadows to the dark blue stationwagon parked opposite. There's two this time, doubly risky, but the rewards will be so  much sweeter. I need to improvise, I didn't prepare for two.
A quick snap to the drivers window with an automatic centre punch and it breaks. Swiftly my hand tugs on shattered glass leaving, a satisfying line of crimson.

"Damn it." My cursing grabs their attention. 
At first they giggle , alcohol still running hotly through their blood , but the haze evaporates when they see me clutching my bloody left hand.Laughter falls into silence as they walk over the road to see if I'm ok. 
" Hey man! You ok?" the blonde one asks.

"Oh my god! Steph he's hurt."

I mumble, I'm fine, my hand slipped and I need to get home.
My fumbling attempts at the door handle leave a smear of my blood. It's not long before they tell me they're sober enough to help me home and operate the stick shift for me. It's so easy, so smooth and the streets are desolate, no one noticing 2 young girls get into a car with a man at 3 am, I have to try hard to hide my smile.With the doors quietly shut behind them, one in the back seat, one in the front with me, we are soon on the road, and speeding down the freeway. Glancing in the mirror I see the blonde one, Stephanie's  asleep curled up on the backseat with a comforter, her skirt riding up delicously. I fight down my fervour and concentrate on getting back to mine as Tiffany the girl in the front with me drifts in and out of slumber.

Finally we are back at mine.They follow me up into my apartment and Stephanie collapses on the couch. My luck is sublime.
As Tiffany searches through my first aid box she doesn't see me sneaking up behind her marvelling at her figure. Suddenly I reach around, grabbing her. She struggles. So easy and then within ten seconds I'm on the floor, arms behind my back handcuffed, utterly confused whilst both of the girls are shouting in my ear.

"You think your the only one that does this?" Stephanie smiles at my puzzled look.

"Please! Your an amateur. We're gonna show you how its really done."

Tiffany pulls my hair making me look up, sobbing.

"Steph! I reckon this ones a screamer. "


Y Bwytawyr (475 words)

As I tuck my daughter into bed and wish her goodnight, she looks lovingly up at me and asks for a story. I tell her to move over so I can cutch in beside her and indulge her desires.

Once upon a time, in a land not too far from here, there was a small village called Gan-Y-Nant.

The village itself was unremarkable; it was simply somewhere that needed to exist as the gap between the neighbouring towns was too great and there needed to be something in the middle. The villagers were simple folk, your normal collection of farm hands, a baker, a butcher and Leslie who owned the Inn.

By day they led a quiet, god fearing life, but come nightfall things changed dramatically.

The richer, luckier villagers locked their children in the cellars at night. Safe and sound away from them, the Bwytawyr.

The less lucky had to rely on their wits. They told their children to lie still, close their eyes and not open them until the sun rose.

The Bwytawyr only came out at night. They lived in the shadows of the woods and as the sun sank lower and the shadows grew longer, they grew braver and crept closer and closer.

Few people ever saw them; fewer still ever lived to tell the tale. Legend had it they were small and sleek like a furless cat but walked on their hind legs. Their naked pale skin the reason they hid from the sun.

They would sneak and creep from house to house in the still of the night looking for children who were still awake. Into these unlucky houses they would slide and feast upon the open eyes of the child.

They never meant to kill at first, that wasn't really their game, they only came to feed but when they tried to silence the screams, stifle them away with their paws and claws, death was just an unfortunate by-product. Soon they learnt to kill first eat later, and then the blood lust took hold and they would kill all they found like a fox in a hen house.

The escape was found by accident, a child saw a shadow at her window, closed her eyes tight and lay perfectly still. The Bwytawyr  sensed she wasn't asleep and snuck in, what it found in her bed confused it, it sniffed at the child with its insistent snout, gently pawed at the closed eyes and slunk disappointedly out and into the night again.

They aren't a clever race, the Bwytawyr, they are driven by hunger and thrive on fear.

So if you lay still and shut your eyes you'll be safe my child.

She closes her eyes tight and wriggles down into the blankets for further protection; I kiss her on the forehead and whisper

"cysgu yn dda fy mhlentyn"


Suffer Little Children (498 Words)

Stepping out of the nothing, I already know the story. I have seen it countless times before, I have already seen everything, even that which is yet to happen.

Some young upstart thinks he owns  a race car, the roads are his circuit. He flies through a stop sign and piles into the side of family saloon.

I am instantaneous for the mother in the driving seat, she has led a good life and doesn't deserve to witness what is to follow. I kiss her on what is left of her forehead and grant her peace.

I am also in the back seat cradling the remains of their eighteen month old daughter, a true innocent. I soothe her, shower her with kisses and send her on her way.

 I know she was born to die, you all are, but this empty, useless shell makes the anger rise in me.

I never asked for this job, there was no interview, you created me. You cast my image onto the end of your lives, I am the end to your means.

I cast the child aside and move along to the young racer. 
He is crumpled, bloody and broken, pinned against the steering wheel.

I seep in to the passenger seat and push him back into his seat, savouring his pain, drinking it in.

His eyes are rolled into the back of his head but I know he can hear me.

"Toby, you know who I am and you know what you have done."

I lean in and let him feel my sweet embrace, letting out a sigh as his soul starts to ooze out of the shattered vessel.

I pull away and watch as his essence reluctantly crawls back in to him.

"You don't deserve to die Toby, you deserve to live with the consequences of your actions, you deserve a life of suffering and pain. 

People will say you were lucky Toby, people will thank god, others will question her. 

Let me tell you now, god played no part in this. 

This is all me."

I leave him knowing my message has hit home and turn my attention, my real fury and vengeance on the passenger in the other car.

He hasn't a scratch on him, he was always lucky. Lucky in life and in love.

I call his name.


His eyes flutter as he struggles to regain conciousness, I wait for him to focus, I have got forever, time doesn't matter to me.

Finally he see's me and I flash him a grin, it doesn't feel natural but it unsettles him nicely.

"David, I am truly sorry about your wife and daughter, they deserved better but I promised you, as I have promised young Toby over there, a life of untold pain and this is me cashing in. It may be fleeting but this is about quality not quantity"

I lean in to kiss him on the cheek and whisper into his ear.

"You deserve this."


Ask A Grown Up For Help (493 words)

The normally cheery presenter looks haunted. His eyes are bloodshot, he hasn't shaved for days, his greasy hair sticks out at angles from where he keeps rubbing at his head.

He sniffs, rubs his nose on the sleeve of his trademark red sweater, stares blankly into the camera and starts to deliver his spiel.

"Ok children" he says sadly, the love and warmth missing from his voice.

"For this you're going to need a piece of card, some scissors, glue, glitter and your felt-tips"

He looks down at his cluttered table and starts collecting what he needs.

"First off fold you card in half, you can do it either way depending on how you want it to stand up at the end. Next you want to get a pen... Or a pencil and start drawing your design.

It can be anything you want; I'm going for a broken heart because love is a cruel selfish game where nobody wins."

He starts to sob. He sighs, wipes his eyes and nose with his sleeves and tries to carry on.

"So you just draw your design on the front like this, make it nice a big so you have room to decorate it. Then you get the glue."

He reaches for the tub of white pva glue, opens it, takes a deep sniff, then a mouthful, he starts giggling and smacking his lips.

"aaah an excellent vintage! "

He has wanted to do this joke for years.

Putting the pot down he carries on with the job in hand spreading the glue across his design, the care he has put into his work over the years is long gone and he rarely stays inside the lines.

"Ok now the glue is on we need to act quickly before it dries, if you spread the glitter over it'll look pretty. I'm going to use my hair"

He picks the scissors up and starts hacking at the unkempt mess on top of his head. Smearing the hair onto the glue he starts sobbing again.

"She always liked my hair." He says "She said it made me look cheeky."

He stops and admires his work; he knows how bad it looks but is passed caring anymore. He looks at his hand; clumps of hair are stuck to his palms.

"Mother always said I'd get hairy palms" he chuckles.

He picks the scissors up; they are a safety pair like you would see in a primary school, his prime audience.

"Remember kids it's up the street not across the road!" He says as he tries to draw the plastic blade up his wrist.

It leaves an angry looking red scratch but doesn't break the skin.

"Can't even do that right" He says sadly.

The terrified camera man switches his machine off, walks over to the broken shell of a man and puts his arm around him.

"Come on Neil, why don't we get you a cup of tea eh?"