A Blade and an Arrow

When The Time Comes

n. how are y'all?

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"Mama? What is that?"

The woman looks up momentarily, a smile gracing her features as she taps her lap. Beckoning the child closer until he's only a hair's width away. "This, Qing'er, is a needle. See this?" She points at the tip, "It's sharp, so you be careful with it, alright?"

"Okay, mama. But what is it for?"

"It's used to pierce clothes. So, here's what you call a thread." She inserts the small thread on the hole on the other end of the needle. Tying it before she lifts the cloth she'd been working on, and stabs it on the part where a button was half stitched, looping it on the underside before twisting her hand to grab it again on the other end. Repeating this a few more times as the little child watched, completely mesmerised.

"Can I try it?"

She laughs, pinching his cheeks. "You're too small for it yet. Won't want your little finger getting pricked now, do we?"

The child frowns, and stares on the needle. "Would it hurt?"

"Well, yes it would."

"Oh-kay." He shrugs, tugging on the hem of her shirt, a sign that he relents.

The woman puts the needle and thread down on the table. Pushing the cloth away and lifts the child to her lap. Tickling him until laughter resonates in the room, as he cries and laughs in glee. She stops, eventually chuckling as the child pants on her lap. Leaning her head on the side of the child's, she whispers.

"Should the day comes that you're able to stitch, I will be there to help you pick your own needle, my baby."

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"Is it this way?"

"No, baby. Here, let me-"

"No! I want to learn!"

A sigh of amusement, the woman lets the child stab the cloth repeatedly until a sound of annoyance left his lips. "Gently, Qing'er. Then you pull it on the other side, then you pierce it again, then repeat until you're done. Or you're out of threads."

"How will I know when I'm done, mama?"

"When you manage to connect it on all sides." The woman smiles, ruffling his hair fondly. "Or when you think you're done."

Blinking up at her in confusion, the nine years old Mu Qing nods anyway. Resuming his work, and doesn't stop even when his finger accidentally touched the sharp end. He had seen his mother get pricked by it and didn't budge, so he ought to not as well.

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"Look!" Happily, Mu Qing shows the maroon coloured circle he had stitched. A spare cloth of his mother's that he fixed the edges. Folding it and stitching it that created a perfect circle. "It's nice, isn't?"

"It is!" His mother enthusiastically exclaims, patting his head. "It's beautiful! You have learned well!"

Mu Qing grins, bright and alive as he holds the circle. "Well, can you sell it along with your own works? That way, we can have all the money we can have!"