Roger loved to sew more than anything in the world. More than cookies and cakes, pizzas and pasta, or people and places. He loved sewing more than he loved his family or friends. Most people in his town who did sewing, they did sewing to live. Roger lived to sew. His desire to sew consumed him, swallowing up his life and burning away the days left to him. People tried to help him. Stop him. Interventions all around for his unstoppable addiction to sewing. It made him a stranger to all he knew before, turning him into a hermit, a recluse. Albeit a very well-dressed one.
Roger had sewn and sewn on and on, until one day a man presented Roger with a challenge. Create for me the greatest thing ever sewn, or I'll cut off all your fingers so that you never sew again, he swore. Roger accepted the challenge. It was backbreaking work, sewing day in and day out to make his masterpiece. Eventually, he completed the damn thing. But as he rose to get up and finally eat for the first time in seventeen days, he died. Instantly. The man later came to see Roger's progress. Reporting the dead body, everyone felt it was his fault Roger had passed, and so threw him in a prison. Rotting away in his cell, the man had only one singular thought:
"He did it."