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Like most people, he didn’t like them at first.
Always considered them a futile act of rebellion from blocks of solid colors- maybe just rebellion in general. The stripes on a raccoon are to distract the predator, the stripes on a skunk are to repel something bigger away.
In all of nature, stripes are there in a futile attempt to survive and to change.
How ironic it would be if the stripes in an unchanging and caged-away environment were the only things he had left?
Alice Yabusame sat on the cold prison floor, with a hand resting over his leg.
The leg clothed in stripes.
Disgusting.
The stripes were the only thing he had left.
He had always preached about stripes, saying things about his body and his mind, but this? Were these horrid stripes really the only thing connecting him to his past life? Hell, back in high school, he had dyed stripes in his hair because of a dare from his sister.
The same sister that hated him. The same sister that hated him so much led to this stripey and possessive spiral of love. From that moment onward, Alice had devoted his life to stripes, only to have nothing in return. The stripes could steal away his money and end his life, yet Alice would thank them.
For what? Fashion? A murderer’s prison outfit was certainly one hell of a statement.
When he murdered that man, he was wearing stripes. The stripes caused it.
The stripes caused chaos and discord, hatred and malevolence.
The stripes spoke to Alice, whispering little while lies and sweet nothings.
He couldn’t stand the stripes.
Alice looked back down at himself. He couldn’t see himself without seeing the stripes that bound him. The stripes, forming some seal of sin.
The stripes had carried him his whole life.
How could he thank them- how could he detest them for that? The stripes were cold and brash, but wasn’t he just the same? He couldn’t blame the stripes for his own actions his own murders, he really couldn’t.
The stripes always pushed him forward, and it was only now, sitting on the same floor he’d been on for the past week, that the stripes had stopped him. It was by his own actions that the stripes had changed meaning. The stripes had been rebranded, but it wasn’t their fault.
They were innocent in this. They were innocent, unlike him.
Alice ran a hand over the stripes with a smile. A bit of silent appreciation. Thanking the stripes, for all they had ever done…
How stripey of them.