Sheets from the hospital?
The cloth settled over him with a whisper, wrinkled hands smoothing and spreading it on each side. His limbs were weak, his mouth slack, as if the blanket had sapped the last of his strength. Though his skin was clammy, sweat oozed from his pores like newly hatched maggots crawling from the soft meat of a corpse. He was being wrapped in fabric even colder than his soul.
Threads from the dead, from those who had lost hope.
Sheets that would give back all that had gone into them.
A handmade blanket stitched not in the attic of the heart but in the dark basement of the disappointed.
“ The ambulance will be here in twenty minutes,” Faith said. “Until then, cherish the despair you deserve.”
She tugged the blanket up to his chin, and then, with a final, benevolent look into his frightened eyes, she drew it over his face.