"Polly-Anna, you are one----"
Thomas was cut off by a glare from the aforementioned Polly-Anna, her hand raised- but faltered, fingers clenched inwards towards her palm. Thomas irritated the ever loving God out of her.
"I am tired, Thomas. All I want is to sit in the Garrison and eat a whole bag of whatever I can grab."
A knowing smile spread across his face, remembering the first time they had spent alone time together.
Before the first light of day, before the first spark from the hot irons hit with hammers, stood two children. Two children ageing through the late nineteenth century, entering the twentieth with broken arms and busted lips.
Sometimes they'd watch as the sparks flew in the air, the smell infiltrated their senses, burning their nostrils with desire. Sometimes, they'd walk down the cut, sit and watch as the house boats float past. But, sometimes- they'd just sit... in the field, near the big oak tree and she'd listen to him read.
To get to that place, though- they had to jump over several thousand hurdles.
Those two children can show a world that humour sometimes grows in the darkest of places. Like a caterpillar growing into butterfly or a moth.
Those two, Thomas and Polly-Anna, had to do it together...
Much to both of their dismay.
In Small Heath, where the gypsies congregated in their masses once every blue moon, stood two star-crossed lovers, but in this story... Only one knew of Shakespeare and his work, whilst the other could barely write down her own name.