Patches (Part 2)
4: We All Fall Down
Gilbert woke up to Hugh shaking his shoulder rapidly, whispering, “It’s time to wake up. The Haywards are downstairs.” He was crouching next to his bedside with an exasperated look on his face, continuing to shake his shoulder although Gilbert was already awake. “You need to get up so we can go into the r…” Hugh drifted off mid-sentence, remembering that some of the children were up and about around him. “The you know what.”
“What are you talking about?” he wondered. “And stop shaking me. I’m awake.”
“You cloud-headed ninny!” Everyone looked at him and he toned down his voice, “Were you listening to me whatsoever last night?”
“A little…,” muttered Gilbert, trying to recall what Hugh said last night. He was too busy counting sheep at the time and wasn’t really paying attention, but he wasn’t going to let Hugh know that. The last t
Patches (Part 1)
1: Patching a New Pal
In a world so bland, some wish to find a world much better than their own. Well, there is a way to find one. If one goes down deep into the woods of olde, they will meet a man in a black waistcoat with a top hat. A man much stranger than the ones of norm, but worry not - he's friendly, not evil. He invites those who are lost to stay in a fantastical world of his creation. A place where those who do not belong in such a boring world can be themselves and free. "So come, children with your smiles so wide. Come stay in a magical world where all your dreams become real. Come meet Mr. Needlework, the man of surreal."
The celebration had just begun and the performers were putting on their best show. There were two of them – a black rat and a chocolate-colored hare. They were made of felt and each had two button eyes, two hats total on their rodent heads, and two floppy ears on each side. The hare held a sin
Patches (Part 5 END)
10: Return to the True World
They travelled alongside together, making the long journey away from their old lives and following the river to anew. As the sun rose on, night fell on the monarch orange horizon, bringing the pale golden moon to the white stars. What a beautiful sight to behold. The moon, which he thought he would never see again, was there right before his eyes. He found it strange how he appreciated such a simple thing now that he almost lost it for good. No giant bears looming into the heavens, no barren tree that stretched across the world – just the peace of an ordinary nighttime sky. He was at peace. Peace of brilliance; peace of mind.
“It feels so peaceful, Patches,” he whispered to the rabbit who nodded in agreement. “I still can’t believe we’re back. It’s so odd.”
Patches shrugged, unable to give a verbal response.
“I feel so carefree….I think I’m actually happy.” Gilbert smiled at her
Patches (Part 3)
“Gilbert, wait! Come back here!” called Mr. Hayward.
Those words went straight through his ears. The crying boy scampered down the gravel path, ignoring the two voices calling out for him – both Hugh and Mr. Hayward’s. It didn’t matter to him anymore. He was not going to go back to that orphanage. Not after what he did to Mrs. Hayward. She was dead because of him. He didn’t want to admit the reality to himself, but Mr. Hayward lost his wife and it was his fault. Mr. Hayward loved her with all of his heart and he’d taken her away from him. The images of her death were permanently engraved into his mind. Him jumping into her. Knocking her over. Them both falling. Hitting the floor. The pallidness in her eyes. Blood streaming out of her throat. Her body not moving. Her death. His youth was shattered. The guilt panged his heart. He wanted to erase those images from his memory, but he was never going to be able to
Patches (Part 4)
8: The REAL Fun Begins
Gilbert woke up on a hard wooden floor. Sitting up, he massaged his stiff back as he took in his new surroundings. What a peculiar place he was in. The walls were covered in colourful green, navy, and burgundy patches and a strange light coming from the moon-shaped window tinted the room purple. Underneath the window was a spinning wheel along with a wooden worktable lined with sewing supplies. It looked as though whoever was working there was there recently because the table was still messy with light blue string strewn everywhere. The area surrounding the wheel was filled with plush toys, some empty, and some incomplete, but each were sewn with patches. Patched top hats of many odd styles were carefully organized in rows on the shelves and in the mahogany cabinets. The rest of the space in the room was used for potted decorations of flowers that Gilbert couldn’t even begin to describe.
In a place so extraordinary, he wondered if he was dead and thi