(The gender and ages of the characters are completely up to the reader’s imagination)
Articles of clothing lay around the floor. Each of different material, colour and feel. Some torn apart, some still together and others just barely hanging on to each other. It’s a disturbing mix up of styles. And you sit in the middle of it. Like the eye of a twister. The molten centre of the earth. You are the main component, the main piece that goes unnoticed. The creator that hides behind their creations.
Your entire body motionless except your delicate hands. The hands that continued on tirelessly crossing each other following the line of the thread through each knot. The yarn aimlessly sitting by your legs slowly being consumed into your creation. Your hands that seemed to run on autopilot, your chocolate brown eyes never acknowledging their work. A fear wells up in me watching how carelessly you let your hands dangle with sharp and dangerous needles. A small misstep and they sting, soon small droplets of red following behind them.
Yet you never set your bloodshot tired eyes over them, or me. I’m by your side everyday and every night yet the veils of flesh covering your eyes never open enough for me to come into view. I stand beside you like your ignored needles hoping for one day to leave a mark or scar on you. One that will always remind you to be alert and keep your iris only on me. To finally be burned into your retinas and have images of only me be stained onto your mind.
I think of such thoughts as you lightly grasp the needles and stab them through the threads of yarn, that look soft to the touch. You make them all come to a point of connection, fitting together like they were always meant to be. Like the cells of your clear porcelain skin that is soft to the touch. I know through the few rare times we ended up brushing our hands against each other. I always commit the feeling to memory. Soon the knot of the new contraption of clothing your knitting is coming to an end. Your movements turned faster yet still steady.
As I watch the movement of the two needles binding the thread together a beautiful thought appears. The thought of taking the same needles and sewing the two of us together. I think I would like it to start from our arms to our fingers. It would be the easiest and most efficient. I would first make sure everything would be clean and safe, also would make sure to make the procedure as painless as a Euthanasia. I would soon pick up one of the needles, and have the other one in your hand. We would go slow and steady, sewing through our skin.
Slowly pricking in and tearing apart the tissue of the skin as tiny pinpricks of blood red flow out. It will be the most beautiful sight. They would seem like droplets of blood carefully placed onto freshly fallen snow making the once blank ground be filled with colour. Soon the threads will soak in our liquid as they bind us together like newly made tissues of skin, pulling us closer and tighter together. We will feel the yarn threads slowly brush against the meat inside and meet at a point until finally it is time for them to pull together and form the knot. The knot will twist and turn until finally coming to a point where only the remaining string is left. Then I will pull and feel your skin touch mine as the threads have finally combined us and made us closer than we could have ever been. The string attaches us together like the pages of a binder, something I never knew I would be happy to be compared to.
This red string of fate and love will bind us together for all the living years. Even when the thread is torn and taken out the scars will follow us for life. It will truly make us whole. We will be together, combined in each other’s company forever.