Bloom. Nicola Skinner

Neena shoved me.

      A stooped white-haired man in faded green overalls stood in the doorway. In his wrinkled hands was a large pair of scissors smeared in something dark and red. A big black dog at his side barked loudly. The sound bounced off the crumbling bricks like gunshot, shattering the hot silence.

      ‘What do you want?’ The man’s voice had the creakiness of a rusty gate opening for the first time in years.