Threaded

It all started with the feeling that my limbs were attached to my body only by flimsy threads that might break any time. In school, I couldn’t concentrate on the lessons, because I couldn’t tear my eyes away from the corners where the seams of the classroom were moving, stretching, and slowly breaking. I‘d stare out of the window and watch the autumn leaves on the trees swinging on frayed threads that broke in the slightest breeze.

I was thirteen, when one morning I noticed a red thread sticking out of my chest. At first, I dared not touch it. I put on a tee shirt to cover it up, and tried to ignore it not knowing what else to do. It grew longer by the day. Eventually I ventured a light flick and a touch as if I were testing an electric wire whether it was live. If I pinched it, it hurt, so cutting it off was out of the question. It grew to be about 2 inches long. I was somewhat relieved that it stopped getting longer, but then one day it got accidentally caught in a zipper. That’s when I learned that there was more of it inside of me. I slowly pulled it, and as it didn’t hurt, I kept at it till I had about three feet of it in my trembling hands. When I stopped pulling it, it slowly recoiled back into my chest. I fell on my bed and wept.

Soon after this, I began seeing similar “threads” coming out of most everyone. Some had them attached to their hands, some to their head, and some to their chest just like me. Some threads were red just like mine; others were gray, black, or an almost transparent white. Some went up to the sky and disappeared from view behind the clouds. People thus connected glided along on happy feet. They seemed light and to be walking on air. Some threads, it seemed, tethered their owners to the ground. These people moved slowly, with heavy steps. Their heads hung low as if they were unwillingly obeying a force pulling them closer to the ground. There were also people whose threads intertwined. They were the happiest of all. It was as if they had an unbreakable connection, a direct phone line from one heart to another. Their strings, lines, threads, or whatever they were, vibrated constantly having an effect on their owners as if they were being tickled. 

Some connections remained intact even after the bodies they were attached to have perished. I saw people being drawn to the graves of their loved ones - not always family - and their communication went on undisturbed. Some lines reach all the way to heaven, it seems.

The threads were invisible to all, even to their owners, and could stretch infinitely - some circled the whole world and never broke. They appeared to be weightless and they never got tangled or caught in anything. People in town, in their offices, in hospital wards, or at home in their bedrooms went about their business oblivious to these connections. Have you ever wondered why they talk about “family ties”? They are loosely or tightly connected webs. These webs are embedded in larger and larger webs, and the whole world is a ball of yarn made up of a myriad lines and an infinite number of connections. We are thus the nervous system of the world, making and breaking connections, relaying information, firing like neurons, decaying from misuse, being suppressed, ignored, forgotten, sought out, strengthened, cut, hidden, and so on.

I got used to my life with the bit of red thread sticking out of my chest. I graduated from a state university, had a job, and was going about my life which seemed more or less normal. Then, one night I was woken by a tugging at the red thread. I opened my eyes, and saw the thread slowly uncoil and float out of the window. I was a fish on a hook: helpless, frantic, and scared of this unknown, irresistible power pulling me out of my element.  

After that day, my life has become a search for whatever or whoever was at the other end. At times, I felt a weak tremor coming from the distance. It was unsettling, exciting and unnerving. It was a call I wanted to answer but couldn’t. To leave everything behind and answer a call I couldn’t explain to anyone seemed mad. So, I went about my life resisting the gentle pull at my heartstrings. Whenever I had the chance, I’d get away from people, and the confusing complexity of their connections, the buzzing, vibrating lines, and the noisy, restless, chattering mind of the world. I’d go to the coast, sit on a deserted part of the beach and watch my red line extend to the far away horizon and disappear in the mist.

When the war broke out, many of these lines were collected by invisible hands and bundled up into a rope. Millions were dragged to fields where death was a pair of enormous scissors severing connections, cutting ties, leaving bloody bits of threads dangling from the sky, or lying on the ground like withering flowers. 

The world was an old burlap sack stuffed full of suffering, coming apart at the seams. The whirling winds of madness tore at the red thread at my chest with fury and rage as if it was a hated enemy to be destroyed. On quiet nights, I’d look up at the stars and the thread I thought had been torn away from me would become visible again, pointing into the distance toward you that I have yet to meet. When this is all over, I’ll follow it wherever it may lead, and I’ll find you. 

One day, I’ll find you.

Reviews

[Coyote Poetry]

Honest words and thoughts shared my friend. I liked how you used the thread of red. I believe all life is connected in some way.
"The world was an old burlap sack stuffed full of suffering, coming apart at the seams. The whirling winds of madness tore at the red thread at my chest with fury and rage as if it was a hated enemy to be destroyed. "
I liked the above lines. Old threads can make us stronger or choke the life out of us. Thank you for sharing the amazing story my friend.
Coyote

[Laz K.]

Thank you for reading and commenting! :)

[Coyote Poetry]

I enjoyed this story my friend and you are welcome.

[tranquilspace]

You used this fictional story to describe rough patches people go through in an honest way. Lastly it's one of the best short stories i've read in a while

[Laz K.]

Thank you very much!

[tranquilspace]

No problem

[Dave Brown]

I suppose you will then feed her (?) a line
(sorry, couldn't help it)
I found this all a very enjoyable, highly imaginative and extremely novel piece of work, noticed no glitch, and again appreciated the direction your imagination can take.

[Laz K.]

You got me again! I admit this was written exactly for that reason: to feed Her a line. :)
read moreYou got me again! I admit this was written exactly for that reason: to feed Her a line. :)

Thanks, as always, Dave, for stopping by and taking the time to read and comment.

[Delmar Cooper]

Thank you for sharing this bold and remarkable story. I was intrigued and pleased by it. The most outre' part was to me not the threads but your Samsa-like narrator's ability to see the threads. He let the readers know about connections, usually invisible or inferred and their reality.

Mechanically the story suffers from a "cut and paste" glitch. The dash from MS Word is interpreted on your Cafe' page to ?" instead of the - character. Suggest you edit once pasted, after the glitch becomes visible on your submission.

Thanks again.

[Laz K.]

Thank you for reading and commenting. I knew about the glitch. When I pasted the story and submitted it, I just thought that this is something no one's going to read (I'm a real optimist) so why bother. Thankfully, you proved me wrong, and for that I am very grateful.