Warm Reprieve

It was a chilling, blustery evening. Everywhere beneath the faded lights of the urban-adjacent roads, heavy coats, wool hats, and snow boots accompanied the miserable people unfortunate enough to be caught outside in the freezing darkness. But at least to them, there was hope; a form of respite at home, where one could crank up a heater and wear shorts and tank tops with nary a second thought.

Such was not the case with poor, pitiable Mark.

The young man had just come back from a frostbitten trip to the post office, snow flying past the doorway as he entered his apartment. Unlike many other travelers tonight, he had kept his winter clothing on. The landlord raised hell over how most the denizens were cranking up their heaters, to the point that he threatened to double their rent if they even tried to crank the temperature a single degree. While some dealt with the fee and heated up their living quarters, Mark was unable to afford it. Hell, he barely could afford the apartment alone!

Muttering about the cold, he made his way over to the futon, dropping the package he endured halation hell to receive. Unable to afford a trip to his parents' or elsewhere, he had been sent a gift from his grandmother. All he knew from it was that he should take care of it and treasure it.

He scoffed, hoping the present wasn't alive in any way. A few shivering cuts later, he opened the box up to reveal...

A hand-knit sweater.

Mark was about to just toss it aside, but something about it made him want to wear it, just to see if it fit him and just how snug it felt.

He took off the heavy coat he had on the entire day. If nothing else, he thought to himself, I can just put the coat back on. He felt the bitter chill on the room for a surprisingly brief amount of time, for as soon as he slid his arms and head through the holes, it felt as if winter didn't exist. As he made his way back to his room, Mark noticed that even as he took off the rest of his winter gear, the cold just seemed to no longer matter to him, making him feel cozy.

The sweater was plush, sure, and it was knitted well enough to trap in heat, but before he'd still shiver if he took his coat and gloves off. Here, it seemed he could sleep in just this heavenly sweater and nothing mattered! He was so ecstatic at how warm it kept him, but also exhausted at the day he had. Yawning, he didn't even bother changing back into reasonable clothes before dozing off face first onto his bed, the warm winter sweater making him let all the stress of the day wash away with the cold.
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Right as the sun began to rise, Mark woke up from a surprisingly sound sleep, despite the apartment feeling more like a freezer than a cooler this morning. This sweater works wonders, he thought to himself, reclining back into his bed. He had the next few days off, so he was able to just stay in and relax in the haven of heat that he had for himself. Arms behind his head, Mark sighed as he laid back, mentally thanking his grandma for the now well-warranted present.

Just then, however, as he looked around his room, he noticed a stray strand of yarn on the sweater, just above his waist. "Well, that's new..." Mark quipped as he brought up a hand to pull at the string. As bad as it was to just pull on it, he was in the perfect, comfiest position, and he didn't want to go and ruin it just to fix this issue. It was something that could easily be dealt with in a matter of seconds without it.

Or, at least, that was what he was thinking, anyway.

It wasn't until a minute or two later that Mark realized that he was going to unravel the whole thing by the time this was dealt with. Oddly enough, however, the sweater didn't seem to get any smaller. A part of him wanted to keep pulling on the strand, to see just how much it could go on for. At this point, though, he just wanted to get rid of it.

As much as it pained him to leave, Mark had to leave his cozy little cot and walk over to the scisso-

WHUMP

Just as he went to slide off the bed onto his legs, he stumbled onto the freezing, hard floor. For some reason, his legs just didn't respond like they normally do. A quick glance at them answered a couple of Mark's questions, as in place of his legs were, well nothing. Nothing aside from an unraveling cloth of, well, him? It seemed the yarn he was pulling on was unraveling him into a long line of string. His heart caught in throat, preventing him from yelling for help.

Shit. Shit. Shitshitshitshitshit. He needed to stop this, fast! Maybe, maybe he could cut the yarn, and that would stop it from spreading over him! A small bit of hope rose within him as he tried his best to walk with his stumpy legs over out of the room. He used the bed railing to help slowly guide his body across to the doorway.

Standing now at the edge of the rest of the apartment, Mark tries to think about where he could find something to cut this yarn with. The surefire place to find something sharp....

The kitchen.

He struggles, waddling now across the hallway, as the journey gets slightly more and more difficult. He barely passes the bathroom when he suddenly tumbles onto the cold hardwood floor. He grunts, chin sore as he looks back to see that his entire lower body was now gone, replaced with a single strand of yarn caught in the splinters underneath his own bed.

Cursing at himself, he opted to keep going and to put an end to the whole thing by doing what he intended to originally: cut the damn loose thread where it frayed.

He brings his arms up and uses them to hoist his head up as he now begins steadily crawling across the unwelcoming floor. With every inch gained, Mark feels more of his body slip away into yarn, making it somewhat easier to drag his body across the living space. He begins to become a bit optimistic, reconsidering his plan to live in a roomy apartment, as he manages to creep up onto the tiled floor of the kitchen, only for his arms to suddenly stop responding.

He jerks his head to see that his arms have both succumbed to the fabric, now completely separate from his body, each one tied to a strand of yarn like his own body.

Slowly everything was crashing down on him, even as he continued crawling in vain with his bruised chin, he could feel the yarn creeping up on him. He still held on, hoping that if he managed to at least get a cabinet opened, he would return to normal.

But alas, without a proper heart or set of lungs to keep him going, Mark stopped just a few inches shy of the door to the knives. Body exhausted, mind overloaded, and head shivering, his head laid on its side, eyes closing soon after as he felt the fabric take over in his fading moments of consciousness...

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A few days later, James arrives back at his apartment, letting out a warm sigh of relief as he made it back home from his friends' place. It was a relief, getting to have a night with the guys in the city, but GOD, the cold was impossible! He could barely stand the cold in the apartment as is, speaking of which....

"Hey Mark!" he called out, "Mind turning up the thermosta-woah!"

He was interrupted as he slipped abruptly onto the floor. Groaning, he got back up, noticing that he had slipped on some mittens.

"God DAMMIT Mark! Clean up after yourself!" he yelled out, rubbing his haired chin. "...fucking slob," he muttered, as he picked up the pair of mittens.

These look odd... James thought to himself, noticing how they seemed hand-knitted. He took a look around, noticing that they were accompanied by a matching scarf and wool cap. Picking them up, he noticed a sweater and pair of socks as he walked up to what was Mark's empty room.

"Guess he's not home..." he thought to himself outloud as he looked in the bathroom to make sure. He grinned to himself gleefully. "He shouldn't mind if I just borrow these for a little," he pondered, sniffing the clothes. "They're clean, at least."

He went off, changing into the newly acquired set of conveniently matching clothing, looking over himself and whistling. "Daaaaaamn, Mark," he said to noone, "This is one hell of a present! And it feels so warm, too..."

Sighing again, he put on his winter boots, now more than ready to go out, until he noticed a stray thread on his sweater. "Whoops, don't want that to get caught on anything!" he noted, grabbing a pair of scissors to cut the yarn off. "There we go!" James exclaimed, heading out into the blustery outdoors.