It's definitely a gun ... It's black like a gun, heavy like a gun, the metal is cold, it's lying there. It should be a gun, this should be a door. There should be something to stop the magnetic pull. Through the door and BANG! Hoohoo! Big noise, I bet it kicks back in yer hand like a shotgun kicks yer shoulder. It ain't no peashooter. Wonder if the bullet hole is larger at the back of the head or if it's the same size. If it was a peashooter it probably wouldn't even make it through. Just be like a hole on a bowling ball. Seems so violent when it's just a spring and a bit o' lead. Rubberbands and pencils and all. T' hold it's quite the challenge - it's surely heavier than you'd think.

It's long, slender, stainless steel I suppose. The edge looks quite, quite sharp. The blade glints in the sun, and I can even see my reflection. Not the whole of my face at once though. Lost my ears on the edge. HA! That reminds me of Reservoir Dogs. The knife I'm holding I guess would cut through most anything. Plunge into the skin the same way as it happens when you put a spoon in jelly. It resists a little then straight through. Of course that's if you apply only a little pressure. If you slashed it would rip open flesh instantly and blood would be all down someone's cheek before you knew it. Probably all over the knife. You'd have to wipe it on the person's clothes. Not your own, of course. Also I heard, t' kill you've got to cut some veins. Preferably lengthwise, not widthwise. Stabbing is probably different - that's a pursuit of a further goal. The blade, the handle. This knife has a leather sheath. Quite a good looking thing it is too.

It's soft, kinda blubbery, smaller than you'd think possible for a human. But there it is. It never opens it's eyes, and it better hope it's cheeks change shape. Looks like it's got a permanent case of the mumps. Now I know that it's a lot o' fun making these things, but it sucks up milk, it pisses and poos, it screams. When it's quiet it's nice. When it's quiet it doesn't mind a damn thing. It wouldn't tell a soul. It'll be wanting to lose the white britches there. I'm trying t' figure out what it will become, policeman, newsreader, drug dealer, boxer ... It's head's got nothing on my fist. It really is small. Worth looking after actually, because when it looks up at you and finds your face funny - well it just laughs with its mouth and eyes, and whole face really. The joy is unbelievable. Little fingers gripping your finger. Now I see why people like babies. They're great - and nowhere near as hairy as dogs.

It's a mess. A bloody disgusting mess. Mostly twisted metal, charred and blackened. Jagged edges everywhere. Much of the ground burnt. Little craters in places. Hardly any sign of people around, save for a bit of pork hanging over the side of what was probably a trolley. Found the black box though! The hill is strewn with this junk for miles, and right up the hill too. Some stuff is falling out of the trees when the wind blows a bit harder. The tail is not too badly damaged. Maybe they should have flipped it. It's getting quite dark now, and with some little fires going on still, and people coming up the hill talking, whimpering, I don't think it's going to be very comfortable around here. I wonder who is actually going to clean all this up? You never hear about that. Oh God! A hand. Minus pinkie. Wee-wee all the way home. Aaah it's a sad and sick sight around here. I don't like it. I had nothing to do with this one. No birds around. They wouldn't have come back. Not after that BOOM! It was very loud. Wonder if you can hear it on the box?

Whisky is such relaxing drink. Not like beer. With beer you have one, then you shout "Give me another beer!" - then you go talking to people and offer t' buy them a drink. You're having one yourself after all. With whisky it's mellow. Sharp enough to let you know it's lonely down there, but mellow enough to make you feel you're in a movie. It takes the edge off and gives you back some feeling of control. Beer - you're on a rollercoaster. It stops at the next bar. I don't get off my head on whisky. But on beer I've done some great things. Once I bet a girl "a free beer" that I could make her breasts wobble without touching her. She said "you're on" and sat back. So I just grabbed them and wobbled them about a bit. "It was worth a beer". You've got to have some fun sometimes. I never would have done that on whisky though. Whisky sets me plotting. T'see what I can see, t'see what I can make. I've been drinking whisky today. Reminiscing. Fantasising. It's the colour of whisky I think - Whisky is a gold Merc. Beer is a fire engine.

Things aren't gonna be the same around here from now on. You mark my words.