Such A Small Thing

Pages 10 to 12

I watch as she takes the edge of my sleeve of my coat in between her small fingers, examining it. "It looks like it got ripped or bitten off."

I try to say something but am surprised she jumps up and grabs the collar of my coat, pulling me down to my knees. I was only slightly shorter than her now. I watch her.

"And this too. All torn into spikes," she says, then looks down at me. "Must I repeat myself? What happened to your coat, Garry?" she asks. I don't react immediately but do a few seconds later.

"Jeez. Never met a ten year old so observant," I say.

"And I never met an eighteen year old that would drop to his knees because of a ten year old pulling them down by their collar," she retorts quickly, eyes gleaming with... what?

"Hm. You have a point. Anyways, what happened to my coat was... Hey, what are you doing?"

She moved to the back of me, and I could feel her nimble fingers tracing shapes and pulling at my coat.

She sticks her head around my shoulder to look at me.

"All those holes are square. Garry," she looks at me from above my shoulder so I have to turn my head to see her, and as soon as I do I know what the look in her eyes is, "by any chance, was your coat made to look like this?" she asks.

The look in her eyes is curiosity.

"Well, actually, some of those holes weren't there when I got it, but for the most part, yeah. It was made to look like this. How could you tell?" I answer.

"Well, for one, some of these holes are haphazardly sewn shut. Others are too well sewn to be sewn by hand." Wow.

"What if-"

"And some of the holes are closed up by a different material than the original fabric." How can she tell?

"Do you sew?" I ask.

"Not a bit," she says, then moves on to my hair, mostly looking at it.

"How in the world did you get it to do this?" she asks.

"Do what?"

"Make it so that only certain pieces of your hair on top of your head are differently colored than the rest of your hair. They're darker than the rest and they all meet up in the middle." I feel her lift a section up. "It's so strange." I always thought so too.

"I didn't do anything to make it do that. My hair has always been like that."

"Really? How odd," she says.

She goes back to my coat. What her fascination with it is, I don't know.

I feel the fabric move after I realized what happened. Her fingers just skimmed my neck, leaving a trail of warmth behind. The same warmth that I felt the first time I held my rose. Warmth is so rare here, it's something to be cherished. I want to bring her close and let us keep each other warm, like I used to with my sister when it was cold at night. I know I can't do that, though.

"And your coat was designed to be like this?"

"Yeah."

"How strange. Why would anyone want up wreak such a fine material I can't phantom," she says, then leans on my shoulder and looks at me. She reminds me of my younger sister, except more chatty.

"Why are you blushing?" she asks. I don't really know why, I want to say, but I can't tell her that.

"I just feel so low in the knowledge compartment because you're talking like that. It's embarrassing," I say. Wow. That is lame.

"Talking like what?" she asks.

"Like you study clothing for a living." True.

"Oh. Well it's not your fault your mom's not a seamstress."

"You're right. That was a little stupid of me," I say, laughing. I stand up and she slides off my shoulder.

She looks up at me. "Besides, there are a lot of things I don't know. I am only ten," she says.

"Right," I laugh. "So, shall we go?"

"Sure. No use staying in one place."

Curious is definitely the the right word. Extremely curious. I'm going to have to keep an eye on her.

(H's P.O.V.)

"Watch out!" he shouts and pulls me out of the reach of the arms.

"Ow. Could have been more gentle, you know," say, rubbing my wrist.

"Oh, yeah. Sorry," he says.

"I sigh. "It's okay. Just a little sore."

"You sure?"

"Yeah."

He had me walk in front of him so nothing can grab me from behind. He doesn't know that I've been able to take care of myself since I got here, only breaking down once, so I let it slide. He's just doing what he thinks is the right thing to do: Look out for those younger than him.

We continue to walk through the seemingly endless black and white hallway, passing multiple doors on the way.

We try to open one.

Garry tugs on the door handle, trying to pull it open.

"It's locked. Won't turn left or right," he says.

"Well, maybe one of these doors are unlocked. Should we try opening them all, or just keep going?" I ask, looking up at him.

"Well, we aren't really making any progress by continuing forward, so we might as well."

"Okay."