3. Shuffles of Shame (The Tale of the Loom Series)

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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Humor  |  House: Booksie Classic
Having stolen from the loomer, where is there to go now? What will happen when he finds he has been stolen from?

Submitted: August 05, 2016

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Submitted: August 05, 2016

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I had it! Finally, the thing that I never knew I wanted more than anything was mine! I clutched my prize to my chest. Click-clack, I slowly slid sideways, like a cheap patio door, to hide myself from the loom operator who was still continuing with this labours undisturbed. Once clear of the potential gazes from the coal like eyes under the hat brim I leant against the wooden shed and clutched the ball of thread against by chest, the neon coloured unicorns welcoming it like a long lost friend. Click-clack, the continued operation of the loom reminded me that I was on borrowed time, soon he would need to refresh his loom with more threads, his tapestry seemingly unending. 

I wrapped the bundle of thread inside my feather coat, finest budget budgie, the bulge making me look like a mother hen who had one too many growth spurts. I looked around the edge of the village for where to go. The eerie quiet only punctuated by the rain on the sheds roof. I stopped, something was wrong it was too quiet. The loom had stopped! 

I did the only sane thing and leaped into the nearest shrub like a dog that had discovered a pile of leaves. The branches pulled at my coat causing a puff of feathers to appear as I disappeared into it. To anyone walking by they would have thought the shrub had decided Venus fly traps had the right idea. 

Holding my breath, I listened, there were the scrapes of wood being dragged on wood as the Loom operator had pushed his bench back, then more jangles and clangs as some mysterious activity occurred in the shed. I waited for what seemed like an eternity or a few minutes, depending on if the listened needed to pee or not, and I gratefully heard the loom start its purpose again, sounding almost angrier than before like its short abandonment had caused it to hungrily start to eat the thread it was fed. 

Feeling the coast was free I extricated myself from the shrub and checked my baby. The grey drab thread stared up at me from within the confines of my coat, its fibre count illuminated by the odd spots of daylight shining through the plucked areas of my coat. I adjusted it for comfort and started my retreat. Knowing that the jealous stares of the local people would be drawn to me if I walked backed into town, I knew that they would recognise I hadnt appeared five months pregnant when I had walked down to the shed. I had the slim hope that maybe theyd assume that he was a fast worked considering the speed with which he was creating his work, but I decided that was probably unlikely. My only option wasI sighed exercise. 

I had come up on the bus from another village 40 miles away, it had only taken 4 hours and figuring that if I kept off the roads, smart move, and went straight over the hills then I could cut off some of the silly meandering the bus had done. From my deep experience of exercise, I reckoned it would only take me an hour or so. With the confidence that can only come from holding stolen threads, I headed for the hills. 

As I walked or as some would say moved like a sloth who had eaten a bowling ball, I was comforted by the Click-clack of the loom. Its noise comforting me that my activities had yet to be discovered. My backpack provided some shade from the sun, as its top protruded above my head, but it was hard going. 

Click-clack, just reach that stone there. Click-clack, no I meant the one behind it. Click-clack, no, no, no I didnt mean a rock I meant that shrub there! My mental battles forever powering me further from the village and towards safety. Click-clack I began to think of what I would craft from the thread. Click-clack, maybe start small, a twenty-foot bright blue electric rug it should be. Maybe with small unicorns cavorting around the edges. Oooh! Maybe also a small villa scene in the middle. Click-clack, that was the way in life. Think doable! 

My trek into the wilderness continued for several hours, the click-clack sounds still telling me I was safe. Click-clack, finally I was there, on top of the hill and I could see the other village on the other side. Click-clack I looked backwards with pride at the distance I had made, the village was like a small model so far it was in the distance. The shed seemed like a small wooden bead at its periphery. Click-clack, I smiled and turned back to face my destination. Click-clack wait I stopped in my turn as I realised I had missed something. Why could I still hear the loom? I had never been able to hear it when I was on the bus, why could I hear it now. Click-clack with a small dawning horror I reached into my coat and slowly pulled the ball of thread out from it. Click-clack, as I did so it confirmed my fears as the sounds got louder and louder. 

Looking down with one eye very much in the manner of a business man late for a meeting who thinks hes just trod ankle deep in dog shit, my eye slowly took in the ball of thread. Click-clack, it said. Click-clack, it just sat there. I opened my other eye and the ball of thread stopped its noise. The terrible silence wafted over me like a terrible relied, then I saw the movement. I could make out between the gaps of the fibres small motions. Moving the bundle closer to my eyes the scene I could see grew and grew and in a flash the monochromatic scene swallowed me hole 


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