Short Story Kevin stood in the bathroom. His head swivelled like a rotary chicken; he was staring through a fractured perspex chasm. The world twisted and folded, cracked and broken, sharp and fragile with a gaping black hole. His stomach lurched. If one were to fire a firecracker attached to a firework into a fire hazard would the explosion even matter? Deathly silent doesn't even begin to describe but at the same time it doesn't do any justice to the roaring flames. Kevin grimaced and spun all the way round to the bedroom, he looked at his wife first, then the bloke she'd brought home, expecting him and her to be at the comedy club, then the man he'd brought home, who was dressed in not much more than a hollowed sock. The £18,000 in cash on the bed unmissable, a black briefcase ominously shadowing the pile. His wife spoke, she muttered a solitary "kevin...".