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+====== Site ======
+===== Editorials =====
+==== A little light fiction ====
+This isn't an article as such, but it's not an editorial so here seemed the best place to put it. This is the very basic outline of how the storyling for Somewhere is going to run, so I thought you might like to read it.
+In the project you will play our hero Derwin, and this is just to set the scene so to speak. As I say it's nowhere near finished (this is about 2000 words, the finished thing should more like 10000.. but only the first bit will be the storyline, the rest will be written for the sake of writing.)
+Derwin (working title)
+They say that fear can drive a man to any lengths, but has anyone ever considered the supreme driving force of cowardice? A man who is scared at one point in time can accomplish previously incomprehensible feats, so what of the power of a man who is scared every day of his life?
+Derwin contemplated this thought. He was a coward in the purest form of the word. There wasn't a person in this city that didn't put the fear of God into him. Most of the buildings scared him, and certainly all the animals. But despite this apparent incentive, Derwin didn't feel particularly powerful. In fact, when it came right down to it in the middle of each terrifying night, nothing could be further from the truth. He'd hide under the sheets in his run down room, quivering with the passing of every train, the echo of every voice, the beep of every car.
+However, regardless of his contrary stance on the "Coward Power" theory, Derwin would soon discover that even he had hidden depths, albeit very shallow ones filled with no doubt scary water.
+Every man will have a defining moment. On his deathbed he'll look back on his life and be able to see one act that made him who he was. Something that epitomises everything he believed in. It would no doubt be the single shining point in an otherwise uneventful and tawdry life, but he would have his moment and he could go happy. The problem arises if you try to judge a man by his moment. Take our fellow Derwin for example. He spent most of his life hiding under the sheets or running for dear life from a particularly threatening shadow, but his defining moment would belie all of this. His moment would be of pure courage, fuelled with a fire from somewhere deep inside. At least that's how anyone else might read the situation. Derwin probably missed his moment and was quite shocked to have it pointed out to him on the cover of the local rag the following day.
+His day began like any other. The 8.07 train screeched past on the far side of his building, jolting him from his slumber and dragging him wailing and shaking into consciousness. He scuttled down the corridor, and he did scuttle. In fact he redefined scuttle. As improbable as it may seem that someone may look more crab like going forwards than a crab ever could on it's perpendicular run, Derwin managed it. It was a well oiled scuttle, and it gave him a 360degree escape route, which was always a necessity when you live in such a badly lit and shadowy building as this. How anyone could justify 40-watt bulbs in a public place was beyond Derwin. But then Derwin wouldn't be satisfied at ground force zero. He'd no doubt find a shadow.
+He scuttled to the bathroom, slid inside and bolted the door behind him. Then, as every day, he waited next to the door for the count of a hundred. As unfeasible as it may seem, Derwin's bladder was more scared than he, and couldn't even contemplate its routine business if there was someone in the corridor. After his jumpy and hence normal bathroom routine, he covered his face in tissue paper to hide the cuts. The big one under his chin where someone slammed their door would take a couple of days to heal. He then scuttled back to his room, dressed hurriedly and left the building with the utmost haste.
+Once outside the front door he skulked down the staircase and briefly surveyed the street. Other than an woman walking her dog that could be easily avoided, and some old timers sat across the street talking who didn't look too sprightly, the street was relatively devoid of danger. He rushed down the street, head down, but eyes darting around like a fly in a tin can. He rounded the corner with uncharacteristic lack of caution, then, and by then it was too late, spotted the Brothers Grym sat in their car awaiting his arrival.
+He executed one of his world renowned, or at least they would be if anyone knew who he was, 180degree turns and made a scuttle for freedom, but the car doors had slammed, and not even Derwin was stupid enough to run from the Brothers.
+"Ah, Derwin, just the runt we were looking for."
+"Yeah, our pops wants a word with you, little man."
+Derwin was panicking. Nothing abnormal there, but this was a little more than background panic. This was a little more urgent. This was Grym induced!
+"Um, hi fellas. You, er, you doing ok this fine morning?"
+"Cut the cracks and get in the car."
+This was Tofu Grym. No one knows whether his mother was a vegetarian of if he just had a liking for mushrooms, but Tofu wasn't the sort of man you would ask a question like that. In fact mentioning the words 'mother' or 'mushroom' in the same neighbourhood as Tofu was generally regarded as a move likely to bring on a nasty case of the "deaths".
+None the less, Tofu was the more civil of the Brothers. Sure, he'd beat your nose flat and play windmills with your arms rather than acknowledge your existence, but compared to his brother he was the little angel of the family.
+"NOW, little man."
+Tofu's younger, and somewhat less amiable brother was Sputnik Grym. There is a rumour that his name is derives from his fathers' links with a Russian broad name Chenyk and the inordinate amount of space between his eyes. The trouble is no one has been able to find enough of the person behind the rumour to inquire further. Yes, Sputnik was a tad on the aggressive side. At least Tofu would have the decency to beat you with a bat. Sputnik preferred using his head. Also Tofu usually remembered to stop when the victim turned that certain shade of indigo.
+Derwin tottered to the car and slid in the back seat. He was a little more comfortable in a car. For on thing he had the element of surprise in a car. Not many people expect you to jump out the back window whilst doing 65 on the Freeway. Tofu clambered behind the wheel, dragging his enormous legs in one at a time. His brother delicately placed himself on the seat. That was the unnerving thing about Sputnik. He weighed 120lbs, but had no doubt in his ability to snap you in half, and not many people disagreed. At least not more than once.
+Derwin's mind was racing, or at least racing with a destination this time. Why did Pops Grym want to see him? He hadn't looked at any of the girls last night, and he certainly didn't go near the Gryms' territory. In fact Derwin had had a reasonably uneventful week so far. This worried him. This worried him a lot.
+The crossed the bridge and turned off the Freeway, heading for the Grym residence. In typical style it was a large house, far bigger than any real family could require, but Grym did have a lot of goons that would need somewhere to sleep. It had huge aluminium gates at the front and a six-foot wall all around it. It was a veritable fortress. Derwin considered the irony that those who seek the hardest to avoid prison achieve it by building one around them. He decided that it might not be a life-extending move to point this out to any of the others in the car.
+The car rolled up to the front door of the house and two men who oozed hired-goon walked to the car.
+"Get him inside," grunted Tofu. The rear door flung open and Derwin was muscled from the car.
+Inside there was a definite museum quality. Not so much that the air was musty and there were 80 year old men in purple peaked caps running around offering a "historical perspective", but that every piece of furniture was in pristine condition. The house wasn't lived in, but then you don't live in a house like this, you reside.
+He was manhandled towards a pair of white double doors, which were quietly opened to reveal Poppa Grym working at his desk.
+"Poppa, it's the man who's presence you requested," slurred Tofu with the air of a 12 year old boy seeking his fathers approval. Poppa didn't respond. He just raised his head, gave Derwin a brief look filled with disdain then nodded to Tofu, who back genteelly out of the room and closed both doors.
+Derwin was shaking, but then Derwin lived his life in a state of constant readiness. His whole body was geared to taking flight at the merest scent of danger, so the constant adrenaline flow often kept his body vibrating. He scanned the room. It was a huge office. Portraits lined the walls, although Derwin somewhat suspected they were chosen to dominate the walls rather than through some ancestral pride. In fact Derwin suspected that the Gryms' ancestors were swinging in the trees picking bugs of each other's heads a few short generations ago.
+A huge desk filled the area directly in front of Derwin. Again it looked more for show than actual use. There was no paper work; simply a copy of the local tabloid that Poppa was scouring like it was a blessed tome. No direct escape route presented itself. The house was built with the intention of stopping intruders, though it would appear that the designer had been suspicious enough to suspect that the best intruders not only want to get in, they also want to get out.
+Poppa Grym sighed deeply. He was a man of indeterminable age; having been silver crested and wracked with wrinkles for as long as anyone could recall. Under different circumstance you might say he even looked amiable. At least until he opened his mouth. He had a raspy voice he'd spent years perfecting. Everyone knows the head of a family should speak like he recently lost half a lung in a freak smoking accident. Poppa Grym had gone for the whole lung.
+"Nothing but lies and innuendo," he wheezed.
+There was a pause that Derwin couldn't help but fill. "Sorry?" he mumbled.
+"The paper these days, filled with nothing but lies. I mean do I look like a man who could do the things they print?"
+Derwin hesitated. A second too long in fact.
+"Your lack of confidence is disturbing. But no matter. I have a task for you, Mr GoodHope. Derwin was astounded, and terrified. Why did Poppa Grym know his name? This couldn't be good. And the choice of word, task. To Derwin that screamed "we have a PARCEL that needs dropping in the bay, see to it".
+"A task, sir?" he managed to force out, through the fast rising fog of urgent panic.