Mousie's Page ~ welcome! I do tend to ramble on about my man hermit *flirt!* If you can put up with that, feel free to wander round at will... :) "Take my hand I give it to you, Now you own me, all I am... You said you would never leave me, I believe you, I believe. I can feel you all around me, thickening the air I'm breathing... Holding on to what I'm feeling, Savouring this heart that's healed."

Matt the Harmaceutical has laid down a writing challenge centered around, of all wonderful things, broccoli.

Click here for the rules, and to either post your entry on Matt's page, or leave a link to your version ~ if you can scribble fast enough!

Here's my entry.

"For Christ's sake!" yelled Steve, the cool air blowing from the open refrigerator cooling his body, but not his temper. "Who the hell ate the last of the broccoli? Didn't you see my name written across the plastic wrapping?"

He slammed the door shut and paced the kitchen floor, mind racing, frantic ~ what the HELL was he to do now?

When his flatmate Frank had first entered him into the TV "Masterchef Challenge", Steve had been irked, and rattled. His prowess in the kitchen was legendary amongst his friends, who enjoyed the gastronomic fruits of his labour every Friday night. But cooking for friends was one thing ~ a televised cookery competition was another! He shied away from the idea at first, and it took a lot of persuading on Frank's part to get him to accept.

Now, totally absorbed into the Challenge and within tasting distance of the £5,000 prize, Steve's next dish was completely scuppered. How the HELL do you cook a Masterchef quality cheese and broccoli quiche with NO BROCCOLI??

The steam escaping from Steve's ears as he contemplated the imminent loss of a prize which should be his, could have COOKED a head of broccoli. "Frank, where ARE YOU, you STUPID IDIOT??!"

Steve heard Frank's steps running down the stairs. "What's the matter mate? Who rattled your cage so bad?" Frank's eyes widened in terror and disbelief as he rounded the corner into the kitchen and saw the chopping knife raised in Steve's hand. It was the last image his brain ever assimiliated before the knife plunged into his heart and killed him, stone dead.

Nine months later, sweating in the prison kitchen after the guilty verdict and with a further fifteen years of his sentence to run, Steve swore at that moment that he would never eat broccoli again.