Red fate

The old man and the young boy are stitched together by the man's own splintering string.

Slowly and carefully the seamster pulled his needle in and out of the thin cloth that he held in his hands, his fair skinned skeleton like hands unnervingly still as if he had done this time and time again. Which, I suppose taken out of context it would seem as if he had, to hear than an old seamster was working calmly on a piece was nothing to be surprise of but what if he was actually pulling on cloth that was wrapped around the body of a young boy. A young boy whose only cover was the deep red cloth that was being sewn around his waist as he laid there with his golden eyes wide open, a soft hum would erupt between the seamsters thin chapped lips as the needle broke through the cloth once again. The cloth was too close, any slight movement could cause the young boys ivory skin to be blemished with the same red that was being stitched around him, yet the boy did not flinch. Upon his face was a look of submissiveness, of a lack of control that he willingly gave away without any hesitance, his young and plump lips were pressed naturally together, his eyelashes a nearly transparent shade of blonde, while his short cut black hair messily laid upon the wooden work bench with the rest of his body. By all accounts the young boy and the seamster appeared very strange together, as if they had been made together, their own invisible string wrapping them closer day by day, both of them knowing the peculiar situation they had found themselves in, yet not caring or wishing to alter the fate that they had been born into.

In an instant the seamster pushed his needle into previously unblemished skin that the young boy had been blessed with, the instrument pulling a deep red string that now seemed to be laced in blood, in and out of the area around the boy's hips. Neither one of them flinched or made any noise of discomfort, in the distance the ruffling of doves feathers could be heard, both the seamster and the young boy knew that a hunt had started for them and those alike. A slight movement was made as the seamsters own eyes looked down at the young boy, his eyes were completely white, bearing no iris or pupil yet the youth knew that he was staring straight into his own golden eyes. They stayed like that for a moment before the young boy reached up his hand to the malnourished one of the old man, they needed no words for communication anymore. Softly, the seamster began to hum the same song that he had before and pressed his needle into the boys skin like nothing had changed, the young boy laid his hand back down and resumed his position. Eyes to the ceiling, mouth shut, body bare, and mind wide open.

Author's Note

This story is really up for the interpretation of how ever you choose to see it, I wrote it while I was sort of in a daze so please ignore any obvious mistakes and uh.. let me know what you think please. Feel free to share what you think the story means!