Short Fiction

At Loose Ends

CHOMP

She felt raggedy, unraveled.   She looked it, too.  But once she started working she couldn’t stop; wouldn’t stop.  Didn’t matter if she couldn’t finish in just one sitting she wanted to get as far as she could.  Maybe it was her obsessive, excessively competitive nature that made her count the rows of stitches?  Or perhaps she just liked to see the thing materialize, soft between her fingers.

Too much coffee and a restless leg made her stop around three thirty.  She rubbed her neck and then her eyes as she looked at the pieces.  Knitting is creation — there’s a reason it’s used to describe healing for broken bones —  making something new exist in an open, fractured place.

So she knits all night to fill up the broken, empty place. Thinking about the sweater, socks, blanket, hat takes up the loose yarn and energy she would spend on thinking and crying. Mourning is for the daytime and knitting is for the night.

 

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8 thoughts on “At Loose Ends

  1. Rosie. This is so beautiful.

    And this:

    Knitting is creation — there’s a reason it’s used to describe healing for broken bones — making something new exist in an open, fractured place.

    What a beautiful observation. I love every part of this.

    1. I worked with a sweater designer who considered sweaters the highest form of garment design because you had to make the cloth before you could make the garment. Thanks, D. D.

  2. Love this one. The final sentence in the first paragraph has some great imagery. The story itself encapsulates so much while being concise…. exactly what short fiction is supposed to do. 🙂 Very nice.

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