The Stained Omega by Elle T Jefferson

An Omegas job.

«Anna»>

I’m sitting in the kitchen, it’s dark outside the windows and I can hear a wolf howling in the distance. No, he’s not howling, he’s crying.

I look down and, on the table is a blanket or what used to be a blanket. It’s ratty and worn with holes destroying its once beautiful pattern. I walk to the sink and below it I open the cabinet to reveal a beautiful ornate sewing box. It’s wooden with wolves of all different shapes and sizes carved into it. The box itself is massive and when I pick it up, I have to readjust as it’s almost too heavy to lift. When I sit it next to the blanket on the table, I notice an engraving on the side, Swiftmane Pack

1961. 1961.

I open the box to reveal perfectly cut pieces of cloth, multiple colours. and thickness of thread and dozens of sewing needles.

I sit in one of the chairs and get to work fixing the blanket. Each hole seems bigger than the last. Some holes seem to have a crusty edge. almost like it’s been burned into the very fibres. I carefully scrape the burnt pieces off and layer each section with padding before I put a fresh patch over it. Each patch gets a second and third passing to ensure I haven’t left any holes. No point in fixing something if it’s just going to break again.

Once I’m done the sun is shining through the windows and I can see a grey–haired woman sitting on the porch. I pick up the blanket and walk outside. As soon as I open the door, she turns to look at me. She has grey, almost white hair in a tight bun. Her red rimmed glasses hang from a chain around her neck, her face is graced with lines that display a full life.

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07.07

The old lady says. She’s rocking. back and

wolf…it stopped crying.” I say to the

he has. If you did a good job on the blanket, you won’t ever hear

don’t understand.” I

Fraction my love.” She says taking the blanket from

tent I’m in isn’t big enough to stand up in and barely big enough

my hands and knees and start to feel along the bottom seams of the tent. Eventually I find a hole in the fabric. It’s small but growing with every splash of

it open; it has more stuff in it than before. There is a collection of buttons, some zips, more threads. and more

the box. This one is below the other. It reads. Swiftmane Pack 1974. I trace my fingers over it, I can feel

hard to get the needle through. After a few passes with the needle, it

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An Dragas pab