The doctor finished his final prick and pull before tying the end.
“You’re all set.” he told his young patient, before starting on the customary instructions on how to care for the wound.
“In the weeks that follow,” he told Armani, “keep the site clean and covered.”
“Robin’s egg? Really, doc?” The teen wasn’t listening. He was too busy looking at his new face with the i-phone camera. The threads would dissolve, but the scars on his forehead and cheeks would be permanent.
“Everything I do is stitched with color,” the doctor replied, wondering whether there was more than gravity to blame for Armani’s injuries.
The clinic couldn’t afford flesh-colored thread let alone social workers.
Hell, he was lucky to have blue. Other times, he’d stitched men’s faces with fuchsia.
“Colorful characters, aren’t we?”
The doctor chuckled. “Think how boring the universe’d be otherwise?”
dVerse | Prosery – Everything is Stitched 144 words to include the borrowed line:
Everything I do is stitched with its color.
– W.S. Merwin, from “Separation”