Ewan the treehunter He was a very weird boy. He got attacked by a bramble. From that day on he was a boy possessed, evil glinting in his eyes and anger behind his clenched fists. In a fit of rage he took a swipe at the bramble, a bad move as it tore his hand off. Several hours later he found himself in Casualty getting stitched up. Then a tree fell on his head. Outside the silver birch had been drunken for some time and finally collapsed. It was with a final burp and giggle that he landed on poor Ewans face. Ewans bandaged head was simmering with rage. Anger exploded in him he started to stamp on the grass and spat at Alan Titchmarsh. He bought some shears to execute his foe and meditated in the moonlight, preparing himself for his assassination challenge. A lone bramble at the bottom of the garden shivered in the breeze. He was ready. Swooping forth, his black cloak swaying in tune of the ripples in the air. The first murder as part of a killing spree, spreading through the forests and local garden centres. Ewan the silent assassin raised his samurai shears and prepared to strike. The perspiration dripping off his rounded face as, in one swift movement, he chopped his arm off. �Shit!� he yelled, before being killed by a runner bean.

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