Death Before Me

Stitches

Stitches are to heal.

As a knife is to pain.

Pain is to steal

As blood is to a vein.

When the world repeals 

And a wound unveils

Stitches were meant to heal.

Stitches is what Hart needed. His mind was gone and he didn't try to find it. A knife in hand he sliced open hand. His blood spilled down rather quick, and he only watched. He didn't feel the pain he didn't hear the piece of sanity screaming to stop. He closed his eyes, coughing again. A scream shot through him as his wife ran to him, " what the hell are you doing?! Jackston!" He glanced up. but stayed silent, he looked back to his wound shrugging weakly. Christy grasped his arm checking the wound before leaving to find her first aid kit. Hart watches her go, his mind not registering that he was in pain. The plague was winning and he really didn't think it would stop. Christy came back and sat down by him, grabbing a needle and the horrid thread for stitching. Taking his arm she first cleaned off the blood checking the wound once more. before sighing and poking the needle through his thick skin. He only flinched, watching it. She pulled the thread through the small hole now in his skin, poking another one to pull the skin together. Turning the needle, she tied a knot cutting access off. The repeating the process. Poke, pull, poke, tie, cut. Poke, pull, tie, cut. He repeated again, poke, pull, poke, tie, cut. Ninteen times later, she did the last one. Poke. Pull. Poke. Tie. Cut. She wiped off any blood that pussed out. then with a dirty tan bandage she wrapped it. Wrap around twice, cross once. Wrap twice, cross once. Before he could count how many times she wrapped it, she was done. She got him up and to his bed, letting him adjust first before she sat next to him. He closes his eyes weakly, as she softly sung. 

Hush my little sheep.

It's time you sleep.

Hush my little sheep. 

Please don't weep.

Hush my little sheep.

A wound only skin-deep.

Hush my little sheep.

I'll send you to sleep.

He was out by the third sentence. He was weak and needed help. But he didn't want to ask. She knew this, and she was going to fix it. Somehow. She stayed with him. Cooling him down, warming him up. wiping off blood, fixing his pillows, holding his hand, changing bandages. He remained asleep without a thought. His mind was broken and his chest was caving in. But Christy knew. When he woke up he would feel fine, she was determined to fix her husband even if she had to do a dirty deed to make that true. Hart's breathing was horrid, he hardly breathed in with one normal breath. Exhaling meant coughing and he couldn't handle to much more. He was ready just to be okay, he wanted just to be okay. Illness was his enemy, it stopped his work and his mind.