so these won't be full sized Meca-stories that are like eight pages long, more like really short memoirs or something.
okey, now on with the tiny story!
justyouraveragebuilder was no more, in his place was justy knifehands, a miscreant from the land of Tim Burton. as he stood up he took in his surroundings. to his left, an old wooden windmill, and to his right, a city. in front of and behind him was a forest.
now who would build a windmill in a forest. I'm sure the trees catch all of the wind meant for the rotation power that windmills are meant to generate. but then he remembered that he was in the sometimes black-and-white Burtonverse, where not a whole lot made sense, put lightly. he decided to venture into the city. he had better a chance of figuring out what the heck was happening there in a place populated by people, or... other Burton things. and so as he headed there he met no real trouble, just disproportionate animal-like figures scurrying and bounding through the forest at his sides. he decided that it was as good a time to test out his new knifey hands. he took to one of the bent trees and just sliced it with unyielding vigour. after a few minutes, the tree was no more.
nice... this could come in handy, oh wait, PUN! HAND-y? get it? because I have knife hands? he thought to no one in particular.
as he strode into town, choppy-moving people with huge glassy eyes shut window frames and locked doors as he walked past, a boy sprinting to his door, leaving his spinning top still revolving in the middle of the street. every resident obviously in fear of him and his... differentness. justy recalled his time watching Edward scissorhands and made a mental note to try to pick a lock later. he was just trying to pick up a newspaper to learn about what was going on, when a bony hand emerged from the darkness and grasped his shoulder.

TO BE CONTINUED...