The creator didn't come back to the table for a long time after that, but that was just fine by me. I felt more than a bit betrayed, though now I don't know if it was completely justified or not. After my anger cooled down a bit and I really thought on it, I realized that there were others on the table who were even older than me, some of whom didn't even have bodies. At first I must have seemed, to them, to be just like that one who was finished.
Thoughts like these, along with memories of my 'childhood', so to speak, were the ones that kept me company for the rest of the years I sat on that table, in that bag, waiting for the day that I dreamed would eventually come. I wished for a 'happily ever after', like in children's' books, and I wished for it with all my being, with all of my little, stitched-together heart.
