April Fool

It was going to be the best prank ever. He'd unplugged the alarm clock at the mains so she'd sleep in.
She would be late for work, but that was just the start of it. He'd already phoned her boss to tell him she was ill and wouldn't be coming in.
When she got over the shock, he was going to take her to that fancy place in town she liked for lunch to make up for it and then he'd paid for a hot air balloon ride. She would love it!

**

"Shit!" she declared. "Shit, shit, shit, shit!"

He was in bed, facing away from her with a grin on his face.

"What's up, darling?" he asked.

"Shit, shit, shit!" she replied.

He let out a small laugh.

"This isn't funny. Did you unplug the clock to make me late?"

He laughed some more.

She stormed out of the room. He got out of bed and put on his dressing gown.

His wife was in the kitchen making herself a coffee.

"April fool!" he announced.

"It's not bloody funny. I've got an important meeting I'm going to be late for.

"I phoned your boss last night and told him you were sick. They aren't expecting you today at all."

"Why would you do that?" She was becoming more and more irate.

"Relax, it was just for fun. I've got plans for us today."

She was on the phone to her boss. "That's right, but I feel a lot better now," she was saying.

She grabbed her bag and headed for the door.

"Where are you going?"

"To work. Where do you think I'm going?"
"But I've got plans."

"So have I. They don't involve you. You'd better be gone by the time I get back."

After the door had slammed shut he prayed that it was another April fool.

Washing Up

The plates had piled up next to the sink. They were on the draining board and on the worktop too. There was no longer any available surface in the kitchen, so it had to be done.
He filled the sink with near-boiling water and Fairy Liquid and dumped what he deemed to be the cleanest items in the water. In reality they were just those with the least congealed food on them - they were still quite disgusting.
After half an hour his hands were pruned and it didn't look like he'd made any progress at all.
I don't need this many plates, he thought. He planned to just throw them away, but the more he thought, the more his plan escalated.
Before he knew it he was pouring a can of petrol all over the kitchen and standing in the back doorway, striking a match and grinning like a lunatic.

Porridge

There were fewer things Jeff loved more than to cook.
His new job was pretty much just a dogsbody, but he was working in a professional kitchen at last.
He would go and bring the chefs what they wanted from the vast walk-in fridge and he would occasionally chop vegetables or even make a huge pot of bechamel sauce. It was far from living the dream and the wages were terrible, but it was the most satisfying job he'd ever had.
He hoped that one day they'd let him actually fry some meat or make a casserole. He knew that if he did a good job and kept his head down that it was a possibility, but it was down to if and when any of the others left. He had heard a rumour that Steve would be leaving in a month's time, but they never discussed such matters while they worked.
All equipment had to be accounted for. Knives were counted out at the start of a shift and counted in at the end. They were expensive knives and today was the first time one was missing.
All the guys were lined up as the boss paced back and forth in front of them.
"In a minute I'm going to leave the room," he said. "The missing knife will be on this bench here," he slapped his palm against the stainless steel surface, making a noise like a thunderclap, "when I return in one minute."
He left the kitchen and the guys looked at each other, wondering who the culprit was. None of them were thieves. Some were much worse, but thieves they weren't.
When the boss returned a minute later, the knife wasn't on the bench. It was sticking out of the chest of a confused Jeff who was lying on the floor coughing up blood and twitching.
"Shit!" said the boss.
The alarm was sounded and before long the boss' boss was in the kitchen, threatening all of them with all sorts if they didn't tell him who'd done it.
Nobody would ever say a word. It was the code of prison mixed with the knowledge that the kitchen was the cushiest job they could have.

Punchline

"No," he said and threw the oxygen tank from the boat.

Rain

It had rained for three days without a break. Being inside the caravan was like sitting inside a snare drum and he was reasonably sure he had tinnitus.
He looked out of the window and wondered if it was ever going to stop. He needed to go to the campsite shop for milk and bread and he couldn't wait forever.
He pulled on his boots and zipped up his waterproof jacket - not that it would be effective against this volume of rain.
He opened the door and pulled his hood up.
As soon as he stepped down from the caravan, he slipped. He hadn't noticed that water was now running there at great speed, the price of being on a hill during a perpetual rainstorm. He fell and hit his head, knocking himself out.
The water carried him to a nearby beck, which fed into a river, which led to the North Sea.
His body was found by a fishing boat in the Atlantic a week later.

Fabulous Disaster

"Come and see this!"
The scientists raced into the laboratory of their colleague, Professor Jenkins.
Jenkins had been working in secret for several weeks now. This was the first time anyone had heard his voice since he began.
There was something large in the middle of the floor, covered with a sheet.
Once everyone was present, Professor Jenkins spoke: "I'm finally ready to share my work with you."
He pulled the sheet with a swift movement and it fell to the floor, revealing a silver machine which was egg-shaped and almost six feet tall. Lights flashed sporadically on the front of the machine.
There was a collective gasp from those assembled and the professor smiled.
"This machine will change everything," he said as he pressed a combination of buttons. "If my calculations are corr..."
White light engulfed the room. It was the brightest white imaginable - a white so bright that Dulux and Persil would be jealous of it.
His calculations were wrong.

Lesson in Violence

The man who was being served either had no idea that there were people waiting behind him or he just simply didn't give a shit. He was making small talk with the cashier, despite the fact that his bags were packed and his goods were paid for.
"Come on," hissed Eddie, who was now third in line. He only had a loaf of bread and he regretted using the 'express' till. The name was clearly a joke.
The man making the small talk ignored Eddie and carried on talking. The cashier was looking uncomfortable. "Ok them," she said, which translated as "piss off", but the man ignored her too.
He wanted to tell her all about the kitchen extension he was building.
Enough was enough. Eddie stormed to the front of the queue.
"Why don't you fuck off and let the rest of us pay for our stuff?" he shouted, centimetres from the other man's face.
"There's no need to be like that," the man suggested as Eddie's forehead smashed into the bridge of his nose.
The man collapsed to the floor, wondering if there was anything left of his shattered nose. His ribs were treated to several kicks and he was aware of people telling the man to stop.
Eddie didn't stop until the police arrived. When he told them what had happened in the car on the way to the station they were very sympathetic.

Feeding Time at the Zoo

It was 2 o'clock, the time the sign had advised them to be there.
There was quite a crowd assembled and Charles was at the very front. He couldn't wait to see the show.
The show was of course nothing more than a meal for the tigers. They had no idea why people stood on a balcony watching them each day and they didn't much care as long as they got their meat.
The raw meat was spread out on the floor by the keeper and once he was safely out of the enclosure, a gate slid open and the tigers entered.
There was a little bit of ritual which mostly involved prancing up and down like Freddie Mercury on stage whilst eyeing up the food. Within a minute they were happily chewing away on their pieces of meat.
There was a little bit of jostling as those towards the back tried to see what was happening. Cameras clicked and there was also another sound. It was the sound of the fence giving way against the weight of scores of idiots who wanted a better look.
Charles and five others tumbled into the tigers' enclosure.
The last thing he saw was a tiger looking at him with a look that said it was the best day of its life.

Pet Sounds

The dog had escaped from his master's garden and was wandering the streets, smelling freedom against every lamp post.
He stopped and looked across the street. A cat was looking at him.
The cat seemed to be smirking and he didn't like it. He growled and the cat smirked some more.
That was it!
He ran across the road, barking.
The car came out of nowhere.
The dog gave a terrible scream as the car's front wheels crushed him.
The cat smirked again.

Bonded by Blood

The accident was a blur.
One moment they were walking along the top of the ravine, the next they were tumbling down the rocks and plunging into darkness.
Jeff regained consciousness with the mother of all headaches. It was light, but he had no idea if it was 'still' light or the next day.
He was lying on top of his walking buddy, Alan. Alan hadn't regained consciousness and it didn't look like he could. His body had taken most of the impact and was the main reason Jeff was still alive.
Jeff was unable to get up. There was so much blood which had congealed between the two men that they now looked like a Chamber of Horrors version of Siamese twins.
"Help!" shouted Jeff, well aware that he was miles away from civilisation.

Betrayal

It was an ordinary day for Jack. he dropped his kids off at school and headed to work.
All the way there he had a nagging feeling that he'd forgotten something. He was minutes from the office when he remember: The Report.
The Report wasn't just any old report, hence the capitalisation. It was a career-defining report for Jack. This was what was going to see him really stand out and would probably earn him a promotion. There would be a huge salary bump and he'd be much more respected throughout the organisation.
He was going to have to race home for it.
He phoned his boss from the taxi and said he was running late. "Unforeseen circumstamces," he said. "I'll be there in half an hour."
He walked in through his front door as the taxi waited outside.
"It's just me," he called out, but there was no reply from his wife. She must have gone out already, he thought.
The Report was on the dining table and Jack shoved it in his briefcase and clicked it shut.
Something compelled him to go upstairs. Maybe it was intuition, maybe it was suspicion.
He walked into the bedroom and saw his wife in bed. She wasn't alone.
His wife was in bed with his sister. This was the worst day of his life.
The Report meant nothing anymore.

Horrible Boss

Deborah arrived at work early. She had an important job to do and it had to be done before everyone else arrived.
She put her bag down at her work station and checked that she was alone.
The only person in the building seemed to be the security guard at the front desk. Perfect.
She walked into her boss' office and switched on his computer. She knew his password, having seen him type it one day when he thought she wasn't looking.
He would regret being such a twat to her in the meeting last week.
She opened an internet browser and immediately went to a porn website and clicked on the first video that was available. She grimaced at the acts that were being performed, but it was important that this showed up on his browser history.
She shut the computer down and went to her own desk. She opened her bag and took out a large Tupperware container.
Deborah took the container into her boss' office and hid its contents in various locations. He would never have a clue where the smell was coming from and out-of-date prawns have a tendency to hum a little.
She went to the bathroom to rinse out the box and wash her hands.
When her boss arrived only minutes later, Deborah smiled a big fake grin at him as she finished composing an email to human resources complaining of his poor hygiene and her suspicions about his internet activity .

Church

The bells were ringing, a tune which sounded like a badly-played mash-up of Ave Maria and Three Blind Mice. It had been going on for the best part of an hour.
The windows of the house shook with every clang. He wondered why the church got away with making so much noise and as the bell-ringing practice ended he thought he would test a theory.
He carried his expensive hifi speakers into the garden and pointed them towards the church.
He pressed play on the CD player to which the speakers were attached.
The sound blasted out - distorted guitars and lightning-fast drum beats; grunted vocals and nimbly-played basslines.
A dog in a nearby garden began to howl.
Within minutes the vicar was at his house.
"Do you think you could keep that down a bit?" he shouted over the music.
"I can't hear you," lied the man.
"CAN YOU TURN THE MUSIC DOWN?" the vicar shouted, even louder.
"NO!"
"WHY NOT?"
"THIS IS PAYBACK FOR THE BELL-RINGING NOISE."
The vicar took some secateurs from his pocket and cut the wires which came from the speakers.
There was absolute silence, apart from the ringing in both men's ears.
"God wins," remarked the vicar as he turned to walk away.

Parking

Paul arrived home in his car. Straight away he was annoyed. His neighbour had parked in the middle of two bays again and there was no room for him. He had to park fifty yards away on the other side of the road, probably in someone else's space.
Paul seethed as he ate his dinner. This was the third time this week he couldn't park in his own spot. He daydreamed of winning the lottery so he could buy a tank or a monster truck and drive it over his neighbour's stupid car.
As he was clearing up after his meal, there was an almighty crash and the sound of a car alarm.
Paul went outside to investigate, along with several other neighbours.
He was filled with glee. The roof of his neighbour's car was all bent and twisted and the front and rear windscreens were cracked. A large object sat in the middle of the roof, trails of steam wisping from it.
"What is that?" Trevor wondered aloud.
A woman looked up at the sky. "Planes pass straight over here all the time," she said before turning to look at the lump on the car's roof. "It looks like frozen shit."

Tide

He sat on the bench watching the waves crash on to the beach, tears filling his eyes.
They rolled over the dirty sand, momentarily hiding pieces of litter discarded by those who didn't care.
He decided now was the time.
He took the letter he'd written and weighted it down with a stone on the bench.
He stood up and walked across the beach to the shore. There was no need to take off his shoes or roll up his trouser legs. He entered the water.
He walked until the water was past his knees. He stopped briefly and looked back. He sobbed for a few seconds.
Regaining his focus, he continued to walk. The walking gave way to wading and soon the water was almost up to his chest.
He pressed forwards until the sea swallowed him.

Cinema

Toby liked the cinema. The whole experience was amazing. He loved the smell of popcorn as soon as he entered the lobby. He loved how they still had an actual person who tore your ticket in half on the way into the theatre. He loved the trailers for forthcoming releases.
But tonight it was being spoiled. Two teenagers sitting behind him were talking loudly during the trailers. He tried turning round and staring at them, but it had no effect.
He got up and walked back into the lobby where he spied a member of cinema staff. He told them what was happening.
"It's only the trailers, sir. They aren't harming anyone by talking."
Toby returned to his seat, annoyed that his gripe wasn't being treated with the seriousness it deserved.
The teenagers were still talking and were also using their mobile phones intermittently.
Toby turned around. "Can you two be fucking quiet?" he hissed. "And put your phones away. Have you got no respect for other people? I'd have got a clip round the ear at your age for carrying on like that."
They were shocked into silence.
Minutes later an usherette's torch was shone in Toby's face and he was given a signal to leave his seat.
"What's the problem?" he asked once they were outside the theatre.
A police officer stood there.
"We're arresting you for threatening behaviour."
The teenagers watched the movie in silence.

Butcher

The queue outside the shop stretched to the end of the road and round the corner.
Everyone was after the same thing: pies.
The butcher's pork pies were the best in town. They were the best in the district. They were the best in the county. People couldn't get enough.
"Where's your wife today?" one of the customers asked during a routine bout of small talk.
The butcher glanced at the display of pork pies and smiled. The customer laughed.
The queue gradually became smaller as everybody got their daily dose of pie and went about the rest of their business.
Nobody complained - they all knew it was worth waiting for.
Finally, just before lunchtime, the last customer was being served.
"What can I get you?" asked the butcher.
"Have you any pies left?"
The refrigerated glass cabinet was empty. "I think I've got some more out the back," he said, retreating through a doorway.
After a couple of minutes the butcher hadn't returned.
"Have you found any?" the customer called.
There was no reply.
"Hello?" called the customer.
Still no reply.
He stepped behind the counter and headed for the doorway.
He was shocked when he saw the back room. A metal bench in the middle of the room was covered in blood and body parts, clearly human.
The door of the walk-in fridge at the rear of the room opened.
"Last two!" said the butcher, holding aloft pies as he crossed the room.
The customer paid for the pies and left.
It didn't matter what he'd seen, they were still the best pies in the county.

Tube

He'd lived in London for four years, yet he still hadn't understood how dangerous a place it was.
Now here he was, asleep on the Underground following a particularly heavy drinking session after work. It was lucky nobody had robbed him or molested him, but this didn't occur to him.
He woke up with a start, desperate for the toilet. He had no idea he'd missed his stop - that was three stations ago.
He stood up and staggered along the carriage as the train clickety-clacked along at great speed.
"Toilet," he drunkenly slurred to himself.
He reached the door at the end of the carriage and regarded it with pissed confusion.
He slid the window down and was greeted by a blast of cool, sobering air. Not sobering enough though.
He dropped his trousers and pants to his ankles and began urinating through the open window.
"Hey! You shouldn't do that!" shouted a man sitting nearby.
He was in mid-flow and couldn't stop if he wanted to.
"The lines!" shouted the man.
It was too late. The urinating man's groin exploded in a flash of blue electricity and he fell to the floor as all the power went out.
The train stood there for 45 minutes.

Modern Friends

The two girls sat on the park bench staring at their phones.
Both were busy in their own, private, little worlds. They switched effortlessly from app to app, posting updates and tweeting endless LOLs and WTFs, occasionally messaging each other.
Their unspoken communication continued as a car smashed into a lamppost just ten feet behind them. Neither girl noticed.
One girl took a selfie for no other reason than she felt like it and uploaded it to a photo-sharing site. Her friend next to her commented on it within seconds using the complex hieroglyphics of emojis.
A passing jogger collapsed to the ground, clutching his chest. Someone went to his aid before phoning an ambulance which arrived and took him away.
The girls didn't notice and continued to stare at their phones.
Not too far from where they were sitting, people who were enjoying a picnic on the grass ran for cover as a small aircraft plummeted towards them. It hit the ground and was engulfed in flames as it kaboomed, making the park shake.
The girls still stared at their phones.
After a few minutes one of them looked at the other.
"It's so boring around here," she said.

Library

"Excuse me, can you..."
"Shhh!" shrieked the librarian, much louder than the woman's initial question which she so rudely interrupted.
"Sorry," whispered the woman. "Can you tell me if you've got the new book by Stephen King in yet?"
"You'll have to speak up, you're talking too quietly," hissed the librarian.
"I said..."
"TOO LOUD!" the librarian was by far the louder of the two. People were staring.
The woman sighed. "Is this volume any better?"
"A little too loud, but it will do, I suppose."
"Do you have Stephen King's latest?"
"I've no idea." The librarian folded her arms and frowned at the woman.
"Err, could you check please?"
"I could, but I'm not going to."
"Why not?" The woman was doing her best to remain calm, but the librarian was hell-bent on pushing her buttons.
"I don't like your attitude."
"My...? YOU DON'T LIKE MY FUCKING ATTITUDE, YOU CUNT?"
"And there we go. You're proving it to the whole library. You clearly have an anger problem."
The woman reached over the desk, attempting to grab the librarian.
"There it is. You all saw that," the librarian said to those who were gawping at the situation. "We've got CCTV, you know."
The woman re-thought her actions and headed for the door.
The librarian smiled. There's another one who won't be back, she thought.

Strides

"Good choice, sir. Those are very special trousers," said the annoying tailor.
He was annoying to Dale for a number of reasons, but mostly because of the snooty way in which he spoke and the way he twirled his silly moustache like a silent movie bad guy.
Dale took the 'special' trousers into the changing rooms and drew the curtain behind him.
He slipped out of his jeans and pulled on the brown slacks that would signify his transition into old age.
He fastened the button and felt a strange sensation in his legs. He felt as if his limbs wished to dance.
"How do they fit?" sneered the tailor.
"Err, ok. They're a bit strange though."
Dale opened the curtain and half walked, half tapdanced out.
The tailor grinned. "I told you they were special!"
Dale seemed to be starting some kind of involuntary Riverdance, his legs twitching and kicking.
The tailor continued to grin, very pleased with himself. Dale just looked uncomfortable.
Without warning the trousers made Dale kick the tailor in the face.
He collapsed, grinning no more.

Radio

The DJ's voice was smooth, like butter melting into a freshly-toasted crumpet.
He was currently doing the weekly chart countdown and was being listened to by millions.
Peter Kay was possibly sitting in his bedroom recording it all on C90 cassettes.
The normally jovial tone of the DJ disappeared as he came back on air at the end of a song.
"You know what?" he asked no listener in particular. "I'm sick of this. This chart is nonsense. It's full of mass-produced, sugar-coated nonsense."
The music stopped playing. In days gone by a needle would have scraped across a record.
"Just looking ahead, there are 15 songs in the top 20 that are related to that prick with the TV talent show. He's making a fortune from this and it's all bollocks."
There was a squeak as the DJ got out of his seat and then the sound of footsteps. Finally there was the click of a door being locked.
"This is it," he said.
There was a single gunshot, followed by lots of panic as producers and other radio workers frantically tried to enter the locked studio.
It was estimated that around 6 million people heard the radio suicide.

Fish

Joe sat on the slope by the side of the pond. His fishing rod was in the water, balanced so he didn't need to hold it, but safe enough so that he would be able to react when he got a bite.
The pond was his favourite place to fish. He never caught much, but he loved the serenity. It was quite a large pond. When it was a little misty, like it was on this day, you couldn't make out the other side.
He sat and drank cans of beer like most of the others nearby. The one thing that set Joe apart from the other fishermen was his reason for being there. He was there because he liked being outdoors. The others were there to avoid spending time with their partners. Joe didn't have a wife or girlfriend and he couldn't understand those who did not wanting to spend time with them.
He reached forward into the carrier bag he had dangled in the water and grabbed a chilled beer.
As he did so something roared overhead, narrowly missing him.
Joe sat back up just in time to see a red Vauxhall Corsa splash into the pond twenty feet in front of him.
Drinking had saved his life.

The Shelf

Jane was a huge fan of DIY. She spent every weekend busy with some project or other, proudly making her home exactly the way she wanted it.
She had remodelled the entire house which was more or less just a shell when she bought it.
The shelf she had put up above her bed was causing concern though.
She had measured the timber carefully and had ensured that it was level when she put it up.
The day after the shelf went up it was very obvious it wasn't level at all. In fact it was leaning substantially. She couldn't understand how it had happened, but she took down the shelf and started again.
She measured the height at both ends and laid her spirit level on the shelf. Satisfied it was correct, she mounted it to the wall once more.
She stood back and admired her work. It looked perfect.
Two hours later Jane entered the bedroom and was shocked to see that the shelf was slanting.
She was baffled. The shelf was taken down once more and she measured, checked and double-checked everything.
Once the shelf had been put back up Jane took a nap.
When she awoke the shelf was the wonkiest it had ever been. It sloped along the wall at almost 45 degrees.
At that point Jane decided she was selling the house.

Snack

"These cakes are the best ever!" he enthused after his first bite. The cakes were only a cheap supermarket version of Jaffa Cake bars, but he'd never tasted anything like them.

He made light work of the first one and before he knew it he'd eaten the full packet of six.

He jumped into his shoes and ran to the supermarket. He had to have more.

They had 32 packets and he bought them all. The till assistant regarded him with an arched eyebrow as she scanned the cakes.

When he got home he set about tearing off wrappers and eating cakes.

They were so damn good.

He went online in search of more, knowing that his current supply wasn't going to last long.

Within minutes he had placed an order which would be delivered later that day. 10,000 packs.

The delivery arrived and boxes were stacked neatly in the kitchen. He'd almost finished the ones he'd bought earlier, so it was quite timely.

Once the driver had gone he tore open a box.

The cakes were still amazing, but he didn't feel good. He suddenly vomited, a mixture of chocolate, sponge cake and orange jelly.

He vomited and vomited until he collapsed.

His wife returned a few hours later and screamed when she saw him.

Then she saw the cakes and tasted one.

Shop

The shopkeeper stood behind the counter. He was reading a novel to pass the time.
He was aware there was a customer waiting, but he was at a really tense part of the story and couldn't put the book down.
The customer coughed.
The shopkeeper ignored it.
"Excuse me!" the customer blurted out.
Still no response.
The shopkeeper was irritated. Couldn't they see he was busy?
"Well, I never." The customer turned and left the shop.
The shopkeeper read his novel until he was finished and didn't serve a single customer all afternoon.

Breakfast

The smell drifted into the bedroom as he awoke.
Bacon, glorious bacon!
He jumped out of bed and threw on his dressing gown.
As he descended the stairs, he noticed that it didn't quite smell like bacon. Had his wife been to that cheap supermarket instead of Waitrose again?
He entered the kitchen and stood open-mouthed, staring at his wife.
"Morning, dear," she said.
She was frying a huge lump of meat in the pan. It wasn't bacon.
"This'll shift your hangover!"
His face paled.
His wife was bleeding quite heavily from the stump below her elbow where she'd recently severed her arm.

Walkies

The dogs paced back and forth in the kitchen, whining and intermettently scratching themselves.
It was way past the usual time of their walk and they were uneasy. The alarms attached to their inbuilt clocks which served to remind them of exercise and meal times had been ringing for almost 90 minutes.
Their master sat at the table, blissfully unaware of their plight.
The two dogs barked at him and nudged his legs with no response.
The following morning he still sat there with the lights on and they still hadn't been outside.
One of them had had to give in at 4am and had defecated on the mat by the back door. They were starting to become hungry and their master seemingly didn't care.
He never sat at the table for this long and the dogs were worried.
Two days later and the whole room stank of canine evacuations. The master hadn't moved and he was starting to smell a bit peculiar too.
The dogs slept on and off, but were mostly concerned about the situation in which they found themselves. Their attempts to get out of the door by scratching repeatedly at it had so far proven fruitless.
On day five the dogs looked at each other and agreed their course of action. They started to eat their master.

Driving

He was late.
He drove like a madman along twisting country roads that he knew like the back of his hand.
A right turn came out of nowhere and he realised he perhaps didn't know the back of his hand as well as he'd previously thought.
He mounted the verge and wrestled to keep the car on the road. He strayed into the oncoming lane briefly. Briefly enough for an approaching driver to blow his horn, flash his lights and gesticulate wildly at him. He assumed that expletives were also being screamed inside the car he was in no real danger of hitting.
The hill arrived and he roared down it, eschewing SLOW and LOW GEAR suggestions. He bounced down at almost 70mph, mindful of the bend he would encounter at the bottom.
It was starting to get dark and he misjudged the bend and left the road. The car struck a raised part of the verge and took off over a hedge. He saw a building approacing him and was powerless to do anything.
The family had just finished eating in their conservatory and were adjourning to watch some crappy soap or other when the car crashed through the glass.
"He hasn't even got his lights on," one of them said.

President

The man with the Shredded Wheat hair and the stomach-churningly racist viewpoints had defied the odds.
He wasn't the best candidate, not by a long way, but he knew how the game was played. He'd used every dirty trick in the book to discredit his rivals and one by one they'd withdrawn from the race.
There had been just one final hurdle to overcome. Armed with misogyny and bigotry he convinced people that she was no good and he was some kind of saviour.
The people were stupid, as he suspected, and he won. It was quite a substantial victory.
And now he stood, ready to address the world for the first time as president.
He soaked up the applause and grinned the fake grin of a politician.
He leaned in towards the microphone, about to speak.
Before a word was uttered there was the sound of a weapon being discharged. It seemed to echo for almost a minute.
He was rushed to hospital where he died from 12 gunshot wounds.

Laptop

Keith tore the paper from the parcel he'd received only moments earlier. He scored the tape along the box's edge carefully and slid out his shiny new laptop.
He was thrilled to have a computer of his own at long last and counldn't wait to get it set up.
Keith sat at his dining room table with the laptop in front of him. The lid snapped up without him even touching it. He assumed this was a feature of the latest model and was suitably impressed.
As he began to type the username he had just decided upon, the lid slammed shut on his hands.
It felt like his hands were in a guillotine and he let out an ear-piercing scream.
The lid flew open again. Keith looked at his hands which were now a bloody mess. They were mangled beyond belief and he really wasn't going to need a keyboard anymore.
Keith felt weak and attempted to stand.
As he did so, the laptop launched itself from the table and clamped itself around his head.
He screamed once more as he felt the immense on either side of his face from the computer. The pain went through the roof almost immediately. He prayed it would be over quickly.
Keith's head was crushed like a nut in a pair of technological nutcrackers.

Jogging

He was up at 5 every single morning without fail.
A year ago he was overweight and sloth-like, but now he was in the best shape of his life.
All thanks to jogging.
The guy in the running shop had warned him when he popped in to buy some trainers. "It's like heroin," he'd said.
The guy was right.
Now he was out in all weathers, pounding the streets as much as possible.
Sure, he had mysterious injuries almost constantly - sore ankles, backache and a knee that sometimes made a peculiar cracking sound - but he was happy.
This morning was just the same as most others. He'd run a few miles of asphalt and was finishing off with a couple of laps of the park.
As he ran across the grass he saw something in one of the bushes by the fence. He jogged over to investigate. It was a tracksuit top and it looked nearly new. He picked it up, not sure what to do with it. He saw there was blood on it and dropped it immediately.
"Get down on the ground!" A police officer approached him with her pistol drawn.
He did as he was told.
Once on the ground he could see further into the bushes. That's when he saw the naked body of a woman. She was covered in blood. As were his hands.