Essential Nano Oils

For all the time and effort that the council had put into the project, there wasn't much to show for it. Boris stood at the base of the front steps looking up. The image was that of a newborn galaxy, the canvas was a medievel church to a god unrecognisable in today's world. How the thing had got through the various committee stages relatively uncontested was anybody's guess. At the opening tomorrow he would have to find something to say, anything, any scrap to toss to the press vultures.

Okay, he had to concede that the use of texture and contour was impressive. The building bloomed as your eyes were drawn in through the arched doorway. He was up the steps before he realised it. Unusually there was a long corridor before the nave was reached. The suggestion of colour could be found on the unadorned walls. He held out both arms to run his fingers along them but felt nothing. Now he felt nothing. He kept walking.

He'd forgotten the artist's name, some guy with teeth like Stonehenge and a voice like tyres. He hadn't done most of the talking of course. He had a guy for that, or a gal. Boris couldn't remember.

Between pillars at the end the colours accelerated and the galaxy's was born. Yeah, okay, this was quite impressive too. In fact fuck that; it was phenomenal. The sky mushroomed around him, a shifting mass of colour and heat. Boris put an arm out again, this time in search of support. His hand found a space on a table covered with candles.

"It ain't finished mister." The voice belonged to a little girl, maybe eight or nine, sat on the mosaic floor. "You shouldn't be in here."

"I'm Boris."

"Yes I know. Run along now."

"It looks finished."

"It ain't."

"Where's er, thingy, the artist."

"Who?"

"You know; gentleman with a smile like a broken fence."

"There ain't no one. Just me."

"And who are you?"

"I'm watching."

"For what?"

"For it to finish. Now push off old man."

Boris took one last look up and then turned back down the tunnel, his mind ablaze with images and ideas which he struggled to batter into shape to deal with the big question: What would he tell the press?