She carries with her, everywhere she goes, a long silvery thread, and at the end of each day she sits, and upon her leg, upon her knee to be exact, she places the thread, coiled, carefully, and watches it to make sure it doesn’t fall or blow away in the breezes that move through her room. And of course she falls asleep like this; and when she wakes each morning, at first she jolts a little at the thought, cold and sharp, that the thread might be gone, might no longer be on the knee, on the leg where she placed it the night before.

12 thoughts on “Thread

  1. Oh my God. Seriously. This. I. Love. I take it as a great metaphor for fixating on something in life that is so fragile and precarious. All in vain. Please explain the motivation and meaning of your piece? Thanks.

  2. This says so much Barry. It’s a great piece of flash fiction that stays with the reader – wondering…?

  3. Well chosen, Barry. Threads – how evocative. No surprise when writing about women. As I sit with my colourful mixture of variegated thread wound round a ball, then deftly unfurl the thread into knots and then recompose into curled jewellery to be worn round the feminine neck. No surprise when Emily Midorikawa and Emma Claire Sweeney in A Secret Sisterhood write of thread, too. Using the power of this metaphor in their summary. Go to Google Books, find their book, search for thread & read from pages 253, 254, 255.

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