Young Writers Society

( In English we were meant to write a story about a fast car chase or something inspired by James Bond but I don't like writing action stories so I wrote this instead. It's obviously not the best in terms of writing, but it's just a fun little break from writing seriously all the time)

Like an angry and sick old man, the car groaned as it crawled through the tunnel. The wheels heaved under the weight of Mr Bond, who'd put on a few pounds over Christmas. "Damn my wife and her cooking," he muttered as the seat belt restricted his breath, rolls of fat suffocating his heart as his tiny arms struggled to actually reach the steering wheel. Once known as the "Best spy in the world," Mr Bond now preferred "The best PIE in the world,"

Something crunched under the wheel, like an egg under a steel boot, and Mr Bond slammed on the breaks, his size 3.5 feet only just making it. Oh god, he must have run over a squirrel. The stumpy little red man pushed open the door and slid out of his sweaty leather seat, knee bones clicking under his fat thighs. He padded painfully slowly over to the front of his car where he discovered, to his stomachs dismay, a completely flattened child. This mornings breakfast splashed over his shoes and over the flat child, unfortunately. Grimacing, he bent down as far as his hips would let him and peeled the flattened bloody corpse of the child off the ground

"Oh, look at that," He chuckled as the body revealed a flattened squirrel underneath it "I did run over a squirrel,"

Making sure no-one was looking, the spy threw the child in his boot along with the others- this wasn't a one off incident. Six other small body were stacked up in the back of his car.

At that precise moment, which was possibly the worst moment that Mr Bond had ever been caught in, a police car with bright blue flashing lights rolled up beside him, siren blaring like good old JJ here often did in the shower, re-enacting classics such as Beyonce's "Single Ladies,". The officer, who was only doing his job, seemed relatively confused when he saw the fat man in a too small suit standing in the middle of the road, but cheerily approached him like a predator would in a dark alleyway.

"I'm – oh, Well," He stated "Well, well, what do we have here then?"

"Hello, Well Well," Mr Bond gulped "I'm Jond, Bames Jond, wait I mean James Bond - and uh," but he couldn't think of what to say.

The officer's eyes widened as he finally spotted the stack of pancake looking children in the boot of the beat up old car "By gar- how many children are in there?"

"Oh- OH! Seven," A worried James scratched his tomato red head.

And that, children, is how Mr JJ Bond got the nick name of double Oh seven