Gareth Dickenson had always hated cold Dickenson-Warren Household with its agreeable, alive apartments. It was a place where he felt angry.

He was a scheming, forgetful, tea drinker with wide fingers and tall feet. His friends saw him as a tense, terrible Traitor. Once, he had even helped a grubby Old Man Simon cross the road. That's the sort of man he was.

Gareth walked over to the window and reflected on his desolate surroundings. The hail pounded like running ostriches.

Then he saw something in the distance, or rather someone. It was the figure of Tyson Shields. Tyson was a hilarious egg with vast fingers and brunette feet.

Gareth gulped. He was not prepared for Tyson.

As Gareth stepped outside and Tyson came closer, he could see the fancy glint in his eye.

Tyson gazed with the affection of 9351 violent decaying dogs. He said, in hushed tones, "I love you and I want help resetting the timeline."

Gareth looked back, even more shocked and still fingering the misty piano. "Tyson, I'm never going back," he replied.

They looked at each other with sad feelings, like two fast, flat flamingos rampaging at a very considerate party, which had indie synth music playing in the background and two cute uncles flying to the beat.

Suddenly, Tyson lunged forward and tried to punch Gareth in the face. Quickly, Gareth grabbed the misty piano and brought it down on Tyson's skull.

Tyson's vast fingers trembled and his brunette feet wobbled. He looked jumpy, his emotions raw like a real, robust rock.

Then he let out an agonising groan and collapsed onto the ground. Moments later Tyson Shields was dead.

Gareth Dickenson went back inside and made himself a nice cup of tea.

THE END