Wallet I found a wallet, it was sat on the crack between two slabs of pavement as I was walking home from shopping. It stayed there, lonesome, its leather clad body decaying away in its pointless roadside existence. If it had eyes, it would have cried, if it had a mouth it would have screamed and if it had a heart it would have broken. But no, it sat alone in its morbid existence like lead in a pencil. I laid all my bags of food carefully on the damp concrete supporting my feet and extended my hand into the unknown world of the wallet. The muscles in my hand stretched as I brought my hand over the wallet, my hand lowered onto the leather and firmly clasped it. The wallet sighed and its delicate folds leaked hope. My hand hugged the wallet and the wallet hugged back, I paused in a moment of sympathy for the wallet then prised the inseparable pair apart as I guided the wallet into the tight jean pocket on my right leg. It felt content but not complete, warm and safe yet cold and scared, full of cards and money yet devoid of purpose. It was inconsolably depressed. I arrived home with my shopping and the rescued pavement wallet resting in my right jean pocket. I let out a breath of indescribable emotion, dropped all of the carefully packed plastic bags from Tesco on to my warm red carpet. In one smooth motion my hand swept up and forced its way into the enclosed space on my right jean leg that cradled a scared orphan. I firmly tugged it out of the safety of the pocket on the right leg of my jeans. It fell to the floor, limp, #lifeless and it stared at me, pleading with me. Begging me for help. I knelt to the fragile corpse and gently caressed its leathery skin. I ran my hand along it and felt it shiver from the sensation of touch it had been so long removed from. My hands found their way to the edge of the #lifeless body and noticed where to sides had met to form an opening into the heart; where all it's secrets slept. My finger pressed into the gap and ignored the resistance being given, it pushed, the two sides split and moved until they led flat apart from each other, symmetrical with a fold in the middle. There, I saw it, that fateful truth, that irrevocable moment in which I saw you staring through a dirty piece of plastic into my soul and washing away all thoughts from my mind. I was indeed enlightened. All my previous feelings of content incompletion had faded. I was yours. I lay still and searched your face for news of my fate. Your hand stretched down towards me and ripped from my very center a picture of my previous companion. I saw your eyes in that moment and the image was burnt into my existence. Your eyes, how they welled with love, with longing, with uncontrollable desire. It didn't last, in one unmissable instant your eyes corrupted, hatred burnt through your eyes like light through darkness. The fury traveled through your hands and ripped through the flimsy picture. I raised my hand as it clenched a knife with its point staring into my heart, it thrust downwards into me, you lay and observed with a useless sympathy. As #lifeless as the moment we met yet more alive than me. I have no wallet.

What Would You Do If You Had A Day Off Tomorrow? Well, funnily enough I do have a day off tomorrow and I plan in wasting it entirely on mindless escapism (also known as television and video games). Of course technically I will be babysitting. But that's fine, I'll just lock the children outside and make them play with their friends. Problem solved. Uncle Jack is the best Uncle is the whole world. Oh yessiree!

Alphabet Story Alien warships descended upon the lonely shack. Bernard, whom the shack belonged to, was worried to say the least. 
Cows were usually the biggest trouble he came across living in the middle of a field. 
Death rays exploded from the ships and drove themselves far into the ground making the little shack rattle with fear.
Even the lonesome flowerpot that Bernard tended to let out a little whimper. 
For years Bernard had lived here and prepared for every eventuality except this one. 
Giant green saucers flying overhead were hardly an occurrence that he could have predicted.
How on earth did they end up here anyway? Surely they should have gone to a city somewhere.
 It’s no wonder Bernard’s eyes began to water up, his fear was uncontrollable
Just as the first tear fell to the ground he heard a massive thud echo through the door of his shack.
 Kroksag, the alien leader had landed his saucer into the field.
 Less than a minute passed before steps emerged from Kroksag’s ship and he came strolling out.
 Mid-stride he stopped and sucked in the air around him with a proud expression plastered over his green slimy face. 
No man/creature on Earth had ever felt so proud and satisfied as Kroksag did at that moment. 
Over the window sill Bernard was watching and waiting, quietly observing every move that the strangely shaped green man made.
Past experience had taught Bernard that it was wise not to act too rashly in situations such as these.
 Quite obviously Bernard hadn’t ever been in a situation much like this, but he was a clever man and could draw some parallels.
 Right then, Krokstag raised his right arm which was holding a strange looking pistol. 
Shots fired straight from the pistol glowing with green.
 Two more shots followed in the direction of the ground as silence rung out over the field.
Under the grass where Krokstag had shot, there was a rumble.
 Veins slowly began to grow through the grass and form themselves into a sort of throne.
 When the throne was fully formed, Krokstag took a seat. 
“eXecute them all” he said with a laugh and a wave of his hand. 
“You can’t do that!” yelled Bernard as he flung open the door of his shack and flung his kitchen knife straight towards the unsuspecting alien King.
 Zoom went the knife, straight through the forehead of Krogstag as green puss and blood spurted everywhere burning the walls of Bernard’s lonesome Shack.

Little Jonny's Rattle Little Jonny had dropped his rattle down the toilet – Mother would not be pleased. As the splash rang out he glanced over his shoulder to make sure the crime had not been witnessed by any who would rat him out. Luckily his Brother was napping on the sofa; a love for afternoon naps was not something that the twins shared. Jonny flung his arm over the basin rim and let out a little squeal of effort, his arm dangled for a moment as his fingers flexed towards the water. Just out of reach. He sighed and retracted his arm with a puzzled bewilderment on his face, partially obscured by the dummy crudely placed in his mouth by his overtired Mother. A quick sweep of the room revealed no means of salvation for the drowning rattle. He didn’t mind so much that the rattle was dead - he had many other toys to keep himself occupied - but he feared that the rattle corpse may be the last straw for his Mother. Just last week when he scribbled crayon on the wall she threatened to give all his toys to Tommy. Jonny would rather die than give up his toys to that malformed half of the egg. Tommy and Jonny had never gotten along, even in the womb they’d argue over who got the comfier side. Tommy being the bigger of the two usually won, but Jonny’s brains would certainly be more beneficial in the years to come. Jonny decided that his attempts to salvage the rattle were useless, it was stuck there and he would just have to accept it. He gurgled and began a steady crawl into the living room where his slumbering brother lay. Jonny continued his trudge until he reached the sofa, where he climbed up onto his feet and gave his Brother’s face a sharp poke with his pudgy little index. Not even a grumble. At this point, genius struck little Jonny – his eyes widened as lightning flashed through his eyes. A plan had crash landed into his barely formed brain, a plan that would successfully see him safe from the toy taking tyranny of his Mother. He quickly crawled back into the bathroom and grabbed the end of the toilet paper dangling freely to the side of the loo; he slowly dragged it through the doorway, into the living room and straight into the hands of his Brother, still snoozing on the sofa. He sat for a moment on his slightly moist nappy revelling in the sheer genius of his plan. How could his Mother ever believe that the culprit was anyone else but the one covered into toilet roll? It would be an amateur deduction that his Mother surely would not fall victim to. Pride dripped from his face with every globule of saliva. A few seconds passed and doubt began to sift through his head, how could he be certain that his Mother wouldn’t know the truth? Would the bread crumbs be enough to convince his Mother? Maybe he should add a cherry to the cake, he had few minutes he guessed, before his Mother came storming down the stairs begging for blood. He looked at the room again praying for another glimmer of inspiration. But nothing - Not this time, his creative flame had fizzled out, the wick from the candle of inspiration was stuck in dry wax, the enter key on the keyboard had fallen off. Jonny and his toys were surely doomed. After what felt like hours of panic Jonny decided to act, he could not be blamed or this! His playtimes would severely suffer without the joy and relaxation that those toys brought to him. But most of all, he could not let his brother win. He crawled once more over to his Brother - who was still unconscious and dreaming of cauliflowers eating forks to get revenge- he popper his dummy from his mouth and held it in one hand just above his brother’s face. With the other hand he hovered for a second then harshly grabbed Tommy’s nose covering both nostrils and stopping all air from reaching those small but powerful lungs. A few moments passed as Jonny imagined a world without his Brother’s incessant breathing at night-time, but the time for thinking soon ended. Tommy’s mouth gasped open and Jonny plunged his dummy straight into his ever infuriating brother’s mouth. Brilliant he thought! Not only would Mother think that his rattle had been vandalised, but she would think his dummy had been stolen too. A little smile, which could easily be mistaken for wind, greased across his face. Whilst Jonny was prematurely enjoying his success Tommy had stirred and was groggily opening his eyes, he straight away noticed the glib expression of his brother before him and raised his hand. It then plummeted downwards and propelled the unexpecting little boy to the floor. Little Jonny had dropped his rattle down the toilet – or at least that’s what Jonny had thought, but as he lay there sprawled across the floor recoiling from an unwelcome. He noticed his Rattle, gently resting underneath the sofa staring back at him, assuring him that #life would be okay. Turns out it was his Brother’s rattle in the toilet - serves the brute right for hogging the womb!