GCSE English tuition Manchester, Bolton and bury: The plasticine men two.

This  plasticine man was small and had a pair of purple legs with green feet and a very round yellow head with orange hair.The others were only one colour. Uniform and collected in their boxes next to his  computer. George was still thinking about the eyes. He looked up, at disappointing rain through the window and reminded himself about the face in the wall. The face had given him a deadline   and today was Wednesday, which left only 4 days to the changeover. The exchange of these figures , would give something back, back to those who were lost or were waiting without care.

There was a strange sound though in his head,  when he imagined listening again to the soft voice of the face coming across the front of his mind, like a straggly glove in a cold wind, attached to string.  George loved words because his Aunt had taught him to read. They would sit outside even when it grew colder. Reading was their gift.  

The voice sounded like a old bell , harshly metallic,  rusty too.

George knew the face did not approve of his family and their friends. The face  watched them, sometimes leaving marks on their skin or clothing, chalking dusty corrections that they thought only plaster from the old house walls. They swept away the dust, never asking why they marked so easily here. Dusty impressions like those vanished too easily. The face had wanted more potency, more effect. Less dust to be blown away and forgotten.  So George had suggested plasticine and the face had smiled. Plasticine was so innocent, so everyday, so cheap.

Build them for me please George, so the changeover can come. Build them George, and we will no longer be so disappointed. The sound of that bell , the feel of that glove.  The string that led to his Aunt, faraway. No more disappointment. More gratitude sincerely felt.

Eyes were often the hardest decision of all, But for today, George knew that black eyes with the faintest white flecks and pin pricks of blue would suffice. Changing the plasticine men was a daily task after breakfast and before anything else could be attempted.  The last piece of plasticine was always the most important. George took care to remember how everything about each figure depended for the changeover upon that last piece. He let his mind start again, circling around and beneath and above the shape of this creature, you could only end when you knew how to begin.  He took a long breath and looked at the creature, still with his eyes closed. He waited judging nothing. Another long breath. Nothing. He stayed in nothing.

Then he saw it. The necessary, last shape.It came towards him, slowly, making him wait. The changeover game was all about waiting.   It was a hand, a short left hand, slightly cupped.

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