Steve Thoms Poppies

Steve Thoms PoppiesEdvard Munch Puberty 1894Unknown Artist Heighton After Hours
She thought she could hear a sound as the blade moved. A sort of faint whine of tensed air.
‘And it’s still not sharp enough?’
Bill Door sighed. IT MAY NEVER BE SHARP ENOUGH.
‘Come on, man. No sense in giving in,’ said Miss Flitworth.’Where there’s life, eh?’
WHERE THERE’S LIFE EH WHAT?
‘There’s hope?’
IS THERE?
‘Right enough.’
Bill Miss Flitworth sorted through her rag-bag.
‘What next?’ she said.
WHAT HAVE WE HAD SO FAR?
‘Let’s see . . . hessian, calico, linen . . . how about satin? Here’s a piece.’
Bill Door took the rag and wiped it gently along the Door ran a bony finger along the edge.HOPE?‘Got anything else left to try?’Bill shook his head. He’d tried a number of emotions. but this was a new one.COULD YOU FETCH ME A STEEL?It was an hour later.