Part 4

"You don't have to do anything special" the boy suggested, looking at the man, "look," he pointed at the door, "the door's open, you could just go in and tell her to stop." The man eyed the boy. He put his tong over a tooth, the tooth, his favorite thinking tooth.
"Yeah" he said, "OK." He turned and marched towards the house, across number 8's rather similar yet less symmetrical lawn. It was at this point he realised with the boy's foot indents in his lawn, his lawn was no longer symmetrical, he sighed. The door was, as foretold, open. He strode in and stood in to the entrance hall. The wall's were quite a pleasant shade of beige, the carpet, almost pink. The TV was on in the room to his left, some sort of quiz show blaring out some sort of day time TV music. The sunlight streamed in, the birds were fluttering. He heard screams from up the stares then a muffling noise.
"Go on then." The boy said, who had appeared behind the man.
"You, wait outside," the man said sternly, "it's too dangerous"
"No"
"OK, but stay behind me"
They walked quickly up the stares. The rooms were just as well decorated.
"Beige" The man said, running a hand through his brown hair. He went for the door straight ahead. It was a wooden door. On it there was a little sign decorated by flowers. "Mary's room" it said. He turned to the boy. "It's happening in there" he whispered. The boy nodded and said,
"Going in?" The man turned to the door. He kicked it open.

Part 3

Number 8 was out of place. It jarred in his mind, there was something that didn't fit together; like if there was a room full of conservatives, and a person, alone in the middle, saying, "Yes, I'm very proud of the trade union I'm in, they're a very good idea." He turned sharply to the boy.
"I can't believe it's happening again" he spat,
"What is" The boy said calmly, ignoring the man's rage. The man gesticulated towards number 8.
"She's hitting her child"
"Well you could stop that," the boy suggested calmly. The man glanced tentatively at the boy and rubbed his hands in frustration.
"No, no i can't" he said looking worried "i can't interfere in free will and all that." He turned to look away from the boy. He watched a pidgin. He watched a cat. He turned to face the boy. "Well," he said, a mischievious smile dawning over his face, "maybe this once."

Part 2

The avenue was, ascentually, middle class. His house was the same as everyone elses in the row, the conformity comforted him, but he still wished he had something different, some small rebellion. He looked at the boy with more interest now. He was standing on his lawn, there was going to be two imprints in the grass where his feet had been. 'Ha' he thought to himself, there was his rebellion. No one else in the road had two small indents in there lawn, suck on that number 8. He turned towards number 8 and swore violently at the house. The boy didn't look schocked.

Part 1

The day was cold. Drat. He hated cold days because the TV in his house stopped working; unless, he put a towel over it, to warm it up. He didn't have a towel big enough to but over his whole house... and anyway all his towels were being used to stop the rats from chasing his cat. And the cat wasn't really a cat, mealy the potential for where a cat could be, which annoyed him even more. However i digress.

"What?! get off my loarn, i just made it sermetrical!"
"But sir, you said..."
"Shut up" he said, more to himself than the boy, his voice abbed, "why don't you just...." he peired at the boy, "your my son arn't you?" he asked politly.
"No sir."
"Good, being thirty five he should be taller than that."
"Are you drunk?" He paused to think about the boy's question. If the answer was yes... it would explain a lot, especaily the empty beer bottles in his house and the dead man in the garden.
"I say..." he said, trying to look kinder, "would you mind helping me call the police, you see there's a dead body round the back and i can't fine the phone under all the empty beer bottles."
The boy looked confused. He opened his mouth to speak.
"What...again?"