My world is a dark one, filled with the smells of sweat and oil and the deafening noise of machinery. Dexterous fingers prick and prod away. One boy’s most treasured possession: a dull red button is entrusted to me. My features, disfigured but I do not mind. The rhythmic hum of a hundred sewing apparatus permeate the very walls of the factory; a never-ending whir. Calloused hands take me away from the boy and plunge me into darkness. A single bump here, a dull thud there are all that distinguish my living.
Once more I am plucked from my place, this time by delicate hands. The fluorescent lamps alter the colours of the walls making them a blinding pink. Large people and small people mill about speaking in a language unknown to me. They are vaguely similar to the boy. My lopsided bow-tie and my red button elicit some attention from onlookers. A girl points and shouts but she’s much too little to reach my shelf. Lifted up, by large wrinkled hands, I’m put into her open arms. She’s warm, bright, and smells of strawberries. Joy.
The ruffles are smoothed out from my shirt and my crooked tie fixed right. By my long floppy ears she grasps onto tightly, her smiling face boring into her ageing guardian’s. Another trip but this time bathed in sunlight. For days and weeks we played together. Although of late she hugs me often. I do not see the older one. I hug her back.
Black again, the room is so dark. The aroma of flowers mingle with salt. My friend sits neglected and I too. A man, taller than the rest, rises. He offers a gentle hand. I hope that she doesn’t forget me, that she doesn’t drop me into darkness. She doesn’t.
I was reading the third instalment in the Game of Thrones series and then this happened. What the fuck I don’t even.