O Lee O Lor

Saint Elias loosens his grip on his sword.

Did you see that? asks Simone.

What? asks Sartre.

It moved its hand! says Simone.

Impossible! says Sartre.

Let me see, says Terence. 

He looks into the box at Saint Elias.

Which hand did he move? asks Terence.

The one holding the sword, says Simone.

Terence touches the sword.

It moves slightly.

It moves! says Terence. I can just slide it out.

Go on then, says Sweezus.

Terence slides the sword out of Saint Elias's right hand.

Yay! Now he has it.

He wields it. Whoosh! Slash!

Don't do that, says Sweezus.

It's not even sharp, says Terence. 

It still looks like a weapon. says Sweezus.

Saint Elias is regretting his hasty decision.

His sword represented the actual sharp weapon he had.

The one he slew 450 false prophets with.

O those were the days!

Now the kid plans to use it for a finger.

Should he curse it? 

No. One day he might get it back.

He lies still and listens.

Can I just carry it? asks Terence. And not have it glued on.

You'd lose it, says Sweezus. 

Boo! says Terence. That means I have to wait twenty minutes.

Twenty minutes will fly by, says Simone.

How? asks Terence.

Where's the glue? asks Simone.

Here, says Sweezus. Ready Terence? Hold out your left hand

Sweezus squeezes a blob of glue onto the sword's handle.

And a blob onto the spot where the claw of Baby B-B once was.

Is this where you want it? asks Sweezus.

Lower says Terence. Or it's going to look stupid.

My sword could never look stupid, thinks Saint Elias.

Yeah I see what you mean, says Sweezus. Maybe we should break off the handle.

Bit late now, says Sartre.

Not if you do it, says Sweezus. Break the handle off, and give me the blade. Quick!

Sartre takes the sword from Sweezus, and breaks off the handle.

Now he realises why Sweezus was unwilliing to do it himself.

Sartre's fingers are sticky.

Sweezus squeezes a blob of glue onto the blade, and presses the blade into the spot where the claw was.

Done! says Sweezus. Keep it pressed down for twenty minutes.

Okay, says Terence. How do I make time fly by?

Make up a poem about the transition, says Sweezus.

What a good idea, says Simone.

Okay says Terence. What's a transition?

A change from claw finger to sword finger, says Simone.

What rhymes with claw? asks Terence.

Lots of things says Simone.

O lee O lor, says Terence.

I guess so, says Simone.

O le O lor, I once had  claw/ It got stuck to a hatpin/ and I had it no more, says Terence.

Nice, says Sweezus.

Terence continues:

O lee O lor, I got a new finger/ but it was too small/ so I got a sword finger/ the best one of all.

Everyone seems to like it.

Except Saint Elias.

How long now? asks Terence.

Fifteen minutes, says Sweezus. 

Huurrr.....