Old School

I use black thread because of the way it looks against his skin.

Its skin.

But before I sew, I pour in the salt. At first, the stench seeping from its mouth knocks me back, but I hold my nose with one hand, hold out the container with the other, and dump the contents past its rotten teeth. The pile of salt conjures thoughts of sugar or a small hill of snow. Must taste awful though, if the poor thing still can taste.

Then, the stitches. I push my needle--a heavy upholstery needle from that little...