The Collector

Prompt Day #111: What would you stitch together to construct a truly crazy quilt?


The joy is in the hunt; the search for the perfect piece to add to your collection. Humans are vain creatures by nature, we strive to look our best. Yet there live some to whom fate has dealt an unfair blow. They are marked, upon their very countenance, by some amorphous pigment staining the skin in a most unflattering way. It is this unhappy visage that I search for; this that comforts me. My own mother was marked in this way and I am but the product of cruelty rained upon her for the crime of being born into this world marred and imperfect. She has long since departed this world leaving me lonely, cold and unloved.

I seek women who walk this earth as my mother did; heads bowed, scarves and make-up hiding their disfigurements. Sometime, however rarely, they come to me. They present themselves willingly, allow me to place them in a most helpless and defenseless state. This is but a tease, I cannot collect from them then, for it is expected of me to simply ease them into sleep so that the surgeon can attend to whatever it is they’ve need of attending. I simply watch their face as it sleeps completely under my control. I mentally map the route my own knife will take to obtain the segment eventually to be added to my masterpiece; my mother by proxy.

I will find her again. If she was under my medicinal spell, it is easy to find her, I have after all, her address. If she is one I have found by observation in the mall or the street, I simply follow her until I know her address. They are rare, these tainted beauties, like gems in a mine. They do not often venture into the light. But I will find them until my craft is complete. When she is mine in private, when I am the surgeon and there is no one to stop me, then I will remove her face with its lovely impurity. Eyes and mouth sewn shut in eternal peace.

I regret that they must suffer physically as I remove the cause of their mental suffering but the succinylcholine is the easiest to obtain with the quickest action. I know they can feel each stroke of the scalpel, every nerve as it is transected. The medication serves its purpose; keeping her motionless so that I can obtain a perfect specimen. What happens to this faceless creature when I am done and the drug wears off, I do not know, nor care. I have what I want and now my attention must be turned to the preservation of my treasure.

Once my piece is prepared, it is added to the quilt. Each square, a reminder of my own damaged mother. With each addition, I wrap the comforter around me, enveloped by an artificial maternal affection that I have created. It is a beautiful work of art. Currently twenty pigmented faces have come together in four rows of five to assuage me at the end of each day; to soothe me to sleep as my mother would have done had she survived. But I have her with me always, the very first face piece on my quilt of motherly love.