First there was an irregular orange scarp I scrunched and stitched into the shape of a head.
Months later, for reasons I can’t remember there was a spare blob.
The head and the body are mismatched, the orange head is stiff and flat, the black body round and bouncy.
They wouldn’t stay together until l forced them with a thick stitch spanning nose to torso.
Chester doesn’t care if you judged him for the centipede-scar on his chest, exposed stitched on his head, or flakey mismatched orange patches, he knows being alive is a gift, a gift to the world.