Well as the fairground barkers might say "We have a winner."

Yes our finalist judge Alex Scarrow took time out from his  busy schedule promoting the latest instalment in his Time Riders series (Day of the Predator), to give braingunk a hand and select a winner. He also very kindly penned some feedback for each of our finalists which has been passed along.

So without further ado we would like to announce that the winner of the first braingunk 500 award for his brilliant tale "The Banyan Tree" is Mr Mike Elliott.

Congratulations Mike, you win not only the respect of your peers, (priceless) but also a signed copy of Day of The Predator from Alex Scarrow, an exclusive braingunk T-shirt and the very first braingunk 500 award certificate, which you can hang on your wall with pride if you so wish. We'll be rushing your prizes to you as soon as is humanly possible.

Once again we would like to thank all of the entrants for their amazing stories, our short-list judges Dave, Graeme and Carole and our finalist judge Alex Scarrow for making the braingunk 500 word short story competition such a success.

And for all of our entrants and other aspiring writers out they check back soon for news of our next competition… The braingunk 2500.

The nightclub dispersed us to the streets, like spores from a cheap cotton dandelion, and seedily we drifted, off in all directions. I didn't wait for my friends; I had no patience for kebab queues or bickering over split-fare taxis. If I made my own pace, it was only thirty minutes’ walk home.

As usual I took the back streets, avoiding the busier main roads. In my experience, the more people there are around, the more chance there is that one of them will take a disliking to you.

So I was alone when I saw the thing.

Sergei and Nadia, lovely people, but their native hooch was strictly for a digestive system that had been prepared for it over years.  Over there they probably start in infancy with dry cleaning fluid and work up to it.  Lucky they had made it clear that they wanted me to leave when they did, another shot might have meant hospital.

The day after I lay sweating, aching and musing.  I’d noticed it a few days ago, but now it suddenly assumed a grim importance; the musky aroma that had accompanied me in varying degrees of intensity since puberty had recently disappeared, in its place a sweet malty fragrance wafted from my intimate regions. I began to think that this might not just be some kind of anomaly but something altogether more sinister.

Life is one big reflection, four mirrored walls reflecting my gaze.  I’ve never left this room, it’s all I’ve ever known.

They send people in to talk to me, Joe, Mike, Frank, Bob, the list goes on and on, on average my “friend” lasts about 20 to 30 years, then one day a new guy turns up “So how old are you kid?” same old questions, getting to know you stuff.