Ficlets

A Dream of Knitting, A Diversion from an Origin

With a vague sense of unreality she found herself falling, falling,falling through loop after loop of brightly colored yarn. The universe itself seemed to be unraveling before her very eyes in a million hues of cotton-poly blend.
“That’s just poor needle work,” she told herself, “If you’re going to knit a universe you should at least do it right.”
With a touch as light as silk she landed on what looked like Satan’s own linoleum. Giant strands of yarn flowed down from the heavens above to land in heaps and clumps that were five, ten, even twenty feet high. All of the yarn on the floor however quickly turned a deep, red color, like yarn touched by evil.
Her hands itched to be holding needles. Her fingers twitched for the familiar soft, slightly scratchy feel of new yarn. Her lap seemed cold without a half-finished project strewn across it.
She needed to knit. The urge was overwhelming. There were loops and knots to be done, and she was the one to do them. This she knew. Even upon awakening, she knew.

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