Stitches

Life through the eyes of Stitches.

He frightens me. There's nothing I can do about it. About any of it. He's not like the other children. I'm not new to the world. I've been held by other hands. His mother couldn't afford to buy him a new toy. She had picked me up from the church donation bin.

"I got you a bear, sweetheart"

I was handed to the little boy that would forever change me. She had a hopeful smile on her still youthful face. All she got back were those two dark eyes. Staring.

"Thank you, mother"

He was eight years old.

At first I thought nothing. I thought he'd be no different than the numerous other children I had been in contact with. I might be tugged on sometimes, but nothing too terrible.

I was wrong.

"What are you going to name him, dear?"

She was still smiling, but her eyes betrayed her.

"We'll see"

I was taken to his room. It was strangely void of the usually little boy droppings. Legos, blocks, action figures... no. None of it. I was set on top of a dark desk beside his bed. It was home to numerous scratches of varying depths and degrees. He then sat down on a little white rug across from me and stared. Those eyes. They gave me shivers even then.

"Let's play"

He quickly got up from the floor and walked over to me. A stoic expression on his thin face. He grabbed my arm. Great. Some tugging.

I soon realized it was more than tugging. I heard a violent rip and saw my left arm lying beside me on the dark wood. Soon my right arm and both legs followed suit. I was astonished. Never before had I been treated so poorly by a child. They were usually so full of love. He stared again at my broken frame for a moment before opening a small drawer on the side of the desk. There was a loud thud as a rusted metal box was thrown down beside me. That still box gives me nightmares. He rummaged around for a bit before producing a small sewing needle and a spool of red thread. He took my torn limbs into his tiny hands and carefully sewed them back one by one.

"Your name is Stitches"

If it was physically possible, I would have ran right then. His face was void of any emotion. His eyes the same. I felt bad for his mother. I felt bad for the world. Not everyone's limbs are sewn back on so easily.

Author's Note

Is the length okay?