Loose Threads

 

The boy looked at the girl and sighed. “You are a wonderful sight to behold,” he said to her. The girl smiled at his comment and cocked her head to one side. Her eyes were black buttons and her hands were soft cloth. “You are a sweet boy,” she replied. His hands were rougher than hers, worn but she liked the feel of them on her hands. “But I cannot love you eternally.”

 

The sweet boy was saddened by this and looked about him. “But how can you not love me? I tell you sweet poems of hearts and flowers and remark of your beauty every moment I have with you.” She let go of his worn hands. “I am in love with another, who is strong and makes me feel like a human.”

 

The boy became angry and began to pick at the loose threads by his ears. “Don’t be stupid, Annabel. You don’t have blood and a beat in your chest like a human does, how can you feel like a human?”

 

The girl glared at the boy and his silly loose threads.

 

“Because I love him.” She said boldly.

 

“Who is this boy you love?” His voice choked in his cotton throat.

 

She pointed across the shelf to the huge fluffy teddybear sat watching them. The boy was devestated and, had he been able, would have cried over Annabel, but he made of cloth so, instead, he simply said; “we are cut from the same cloth and we are made of the same needle and thread, and we were made for each other like only two plain ragdolls can be, and so you must love me eternally like I love you eternally.”

 

When he had finished, he was hopeful that Annabel would choose him, but she didn’t choose him. With pity, she said to him; “I don’t love you, sweet boy, I am in love with somebody else, and we are not meant to be together, and never will be.”

 

The boy could not be without the girl, and pulled the thread from his head violently. Sorrowfully serenading the empty space before him where his rag love no longer stood, he tore the thread from head to toe, unable to be whole without her. The thread unreeled on the hself and his skin of cloth peeled onto the carpet below, a tumble of stuffing falling after it.

 

The remains of the ragdoll were left unseen by the girl, and although his worn body could be sewn back together again with needle and stitch, his soul could never be mended, and the unrest of his soul felt more human and more powerful than her love for any other boy could.

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Author: paganpages

Writer of weird fiction, lover of coffee and stories with a twist.

3 thoughts on “Loose Threads”

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