A quilt hangs on the far wall of the sitting room within my family manor. It takes up almost the entire wall, a seemingly endless amalgamation of fabric. I used to stare slack jawed at it for hours as a child, hanging over the loveseat starry eyed until my mother called me for dinner. Its mix-matched patches and clumsy needle work mesmerized me beyond explanation.
When my eldest brother turned eighteen, I was introduced to the family tradition.
My sisters and I watched from afar as my parents explained the details to him.
“You’ll need these,” My mother explained, handing him an ornate pair of golden scissors, “Get the fabric in any way you want, but the scissors are customary.”
“Alright, now what do you have to do again?” My father asked him.
“Go out and get the fabric, cut my piece of cloth, and then sew it into the quilt at midnight,” My brother recited dutifully.
“That’s right,” My father smiled, ruffling his hair, “Better be off then. Aunt Joy is bringing her chicken pot pie, so you don’t want to be late.”
As the years went by, I witnessed cousins and siblings complete the tradition in envy. I wanted to be a part of it. I wanted to put a piece of myself into the quilt. The thing I’d admired for so long. I practiced sewing every night. I thought about what my piece of fabric would look like. I spent days staring up at it and yearned for the day I turned eighteen.
Inevitably, I did.
I nearly bounced up and down on the balls of my feet as my parents explained the details of the tradition to me. Of course, I already knew every word by heart.
“Remember, what do you have to do again?” My father asked.
“Go out and get the fabric, cut my piece of cloth with the scissors, and then sew it into the quilt at midnight.”
“Perfect,” My mother said, planting a kiss on my forehead, “Good luck sweetheart.”
I went over the plan as I started my car. What fabric I wanted, where I would get it, etc. If everything went smoothly, I should be home with more than an hour to spare.
I wanted something dark, something smooth, and something lightweight so I wouldn’t have to strain myself carrying it when I brought it home.
After two hours of driving around to different places in the city, I finally found exactly what I was looking for. I loaded up the fabric into my trunk and made it home with an hour to spare, just as I had predicted.
“Oh my…It’s stunning.”
“Probably the best one yet, don’t you think?”
“Definitely better than my piece.”
I glowed under my family’s praise as I carried my fabric through the hallway and into the sitting room, where it would stay until midnight.
My party was perfect. I hurt myself laughing and ate myself sick. My family had decorated the entire house in streamers and balloons that were my favorite colors. The cake was my favorite flavor. I wished for nothing that night when I blew out the candles. I was getting everything I wanted.
When it neared midnight, everyone cleared off the table. I retrieved my fabric from the sitting room and my parents and siblings helped pin it down to the table for me.
“Ready to complete your special day?” My father smiled.
I had never been more ready for anything in my entire life.
I drew the scissors from my pocket and for a moment, I stared at the carvings that decorated it.
I traced the edges of it with my fingertip, testing its sharpness.
I breathed in. Out.
And plunged the scissors into the edge of the squirming child’s stomach.
Cutting through the material was easier than expected. The scissors were old, but they remained wicked sharp.
I took the sock out of the child’s mouth. I wanted to hear it scream.
I tried to savor every moment of it.
I memorized the feeling of snip snip snipping through cloth.
I slid its charm bracelet off of its wrist and put it on mine.
I snipped a chunk of curly hair off of its head to keep in my scrapbook.
I looked into its eyes as the light faded out of them.
I licked the blood off of the scissors when I was finished, not caring if I cut my tongue.
I helped myself to the blood on its chest too.
I hugged my square of cloth to my body, stroking the unblemished surface.
I thought of all the different ways I could use the excess fabric.
A coat out of the fabric. A necklace out of the teeth. Eyes for breakfast the next morning.
I grinned ear to ear as I sewed my piece of cloth onto the quilt.
The darkness of the fabric stood out just as I had planned.
I had finally fulfilled the tradition. My special day was everything I had ever dreamed of.