It had started out as just a special gift. A homemade stuffed elephant, made of regal purple cloth and a bulging belly – just for your daughter to hold and cuddle with at night. You traveled quite often, and it would be something for her to remember you by while you were gone. You'd spent weeks working on it, taking the time to study cartoonish anatomy, learning how to work the machine, and designing the plush down to the tiniest details. You'd put everything into that plush plump pachyderm, and it was almost complete.
Adding in the last few stitches, you realize that a loose thread from your shirt must have gotten caught in the machine. The long red string went straight from the machine to your sleeve, and pulled the cuff tightly around your wrist. While attempting to pull it away, you mistakenly press your foot down on the power pedal and the machine zips into a frenzy, stitching into the faux fur more and more red thread. The cuff seems to tighten even further, then changes to a more fleshy-tone before changing to a deep crimson once more. The machine whirrs away, pulling more of your body into it as you begin to panic, pressing down even harder on the foot pedal.
After a time, the machine stops. You're nowhere to be seen. But the elephant.. the elephant looks fantastic. Even better than you had planned it. Your daughter is ecstatic to see it too, and snuggles with it that night in her sleep. In her mind, you must have been called away and not had time to give it to her. It's okay, though, she has her new elephant to keep her company.
And you will be spending more time with your daughter than you had planned.
I never have been, nor will I ever be, a writer.
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