Black Sheep

Pins and Needles

That day, I had passed out in the street with blood pouring from my mouth after I had hacked up a storm on the sidewalk. It was dreadful. I can still recall the pain in my throat, which had seemingly constricted to block off air to my lungs. I was lucky that the lady across the street went out to water her garden and saw me. The next thing I knew, I woke up in the hospital.

The doctors filled me in on everything, but I was still devastated by what had happened. Thankfully, my boyfriend's family was more than happy to take me in until I was able to save up for an apartment, which is where I live now. I've at least got a handle on the problem for now. Working as a seamstress helps keep my mind off things. There's just something therapeutic about the feel of the fabric and poking the thin needle through it to attach the pieces together with soft thread.

A sigh of serenity escapes my glossed lips as I fill up the empty spaces on the wooden shelves with a few stuffed animals I grabbed from the back room. Once that's finished, I head towards the door to flip the sign reading Closed in black cursive to say Open before walking over to my chair, which sits behind the wooden counter that doubles as a desk in the back of the room. Sitting upon its smooth surface is a familiar man with black hair, who's dressed in a black, leather trench coat with silver buttons, black slacks, and pointed dress shoes. I quite like the design of his coat, for the sleeves aren't leather, nor are they plain black; instead they're made of a soft, sweater material that clings to the shape of his arms and have horizontal, black and dark grey stripes.

The man's hair is a curly mess, but it suits his flawless features well. Sometimes I even wonder if he actually brushes it or not. He's seated with one leg dangling off the counter, and the other one laying across his knee. His left hand holds up his chin with the elbow firmly planted in his thigh, while the other lies limply on his other leg. Both his eyes are shut, allowing me to see his dark lashes, but not his stunning, royal blue eyes. I offer the man a smile as I plop down on my chair even though he can't see it.

"Good morning, stranger," I greet in a happy voice as I do almost every morning. The male responds by opening his eyes and sparing me a glance before shutting them again. He softly nods his head in acknowledgment before going back to... whatever the hell he thinks about. Honestly, I have no clue who he is, not even his name. I just remember bumping into him on the street, and the next thing I know, he followed me all the way to the shop.

This was about three years ago when I first got the place too. He'd return every day and would stay until I went to lock up. He never looked at any of the merchandise or spoke a word, so obviously, I found this strange enough to confront him about it. I didn't get far, though. He never uttered a syllable.

After that, things only got weirder. He'd refuse to leave and would instead spend the night in my store. When this first started, I lost a lot of sleep staying up with him to make sure he didn't try to rob me or something, but he just sat there like what he was doing was okay. Eventually, I gave up and let him do whatever the hell he wanted. Now, I never called the police on him because of two reasons: he's been pretty harmless, and... It turns out the son of a bitch is fucking invisible.

I found out the day a customer came to me, claiming I was talking to the air. She never did come back after that. Probably thought I'm crazy. After asking a few random customers about the man, I realized I really am the only one able to see him. This unsettled me, so I kept my distance from him for a while.

As mentioned before, he's pretty much harmless, so I didn't freak out over it too badly. After observing him over the years, I found that he has many favorite spots to sit, mainly on my desk, where he can watch customers ring up their items. Sometimes, I'll catch him taking naps on the blue and white, vertically-striped sofa I have in the store or sitting in my chair whenever I'm not on it, which honestly bugs me. Whenever I'd ask him to get up, he'd only smirk at me. Most often, though, I'll catch him with his eyes closed, only opening them if something snags his interest or when I'm trying to start a conversation with him.