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Today I sent a letter to my local council about cleaning up an harrowing crime scene that they’ve neglected for fifteen years. The letter starts right now, down there, the next line is the start of the letter. See, that one just there. Good. Go.

Dear Sir/Madam

Hello, how are you? I’m glad you’re well/I’m really sad that you’re not having a very good day (use a pen and scribble out the bit that doesn’t apply). Hello. :)

Don’t let the charming introduction to this letter confuse you, I’m actually very angry, this is a letter of complaint. That emoticon up there was a cunning ruse to make you keep reading, now you’ve got this far there’s no going back. I’m sorry. :(

That emoticon there was genuine, I am very sorry for tricking you.

Anyway, my complaint is concerning a gruesome crime scene outside Burger King, even after ten years you still haven’t cleaned it up, there’s blood and vital organs everywhere. 

Why do I care so much about this? Well not only is it unsightly, but the victim of the attack was one of my closest friends and I would really like to get that mess cleaned up so I can move on with my life. Imagine every time you wanted to go and get a Burger King you saw your best friend’s spleen splattered against the door.

I remember the incident as if it were yesterday, me and my friend Jimmy were going to get a burger, when just as we got to Burger King Jimmy tripped over his shoe laces and hit his head on the door. It was quite funny. We laughed as he tried to compose himself. On retrospect I’m not sure he was laughing, or if he was trying to compose himself. He might of just been knocked out on the floor, it’s hard to remember the fine details.

Little did we know, on our walk to Burger king we were being stalked by a pride of fictional lions, and when they saw Jimmy unconscious on the floor they knew it was their chance to strike, so they charged in and started to tear him apart. I was screaming, but no one would come and help.

I started to try and kick the lions off of Jimmy but I couldn’t make contact, it was as if they didn’t exist, but you trying telling that to Jimmy’s torso! (I did, it didn’t listen, it doesn’t have any ears, only a gaping wound).

At this point, as a final effort to save his own life, Jimmy gave birth to a litter of tiny battle hardened Steven Seagals. They began doing karate on the lions, the battle looked to be turning in Jimmy’s favour. 

And then a fully grown Jean-Claude Van Damme turned up with a bag full of grenades, he was probably out doing his shopping or something. He pulled the pin on all of them at once with all his magnificent arms, and then placed the bag in the middle of the brawl before calmly walking off into Argos. All the lions, Steven Seagals and Jimmy were blown up and splattered against the window of Burger King. Miraculously I survived.

Jimmy was the last imaginary friend I ever had.

Fifteen years later that mess is still there, everyone walks past it like it isn’t there, scared to face the truth. So please could you clean it up.

Thanks very much

Alex Voakes

END

The letter has finished now. This is some other text that isn’t part of the letter.

I don’t think they’re going to reply, but I may get a visit from the police.