Her newspaper jacket rustled as she dragged it closer around her. The news headlines blared, merging with the next. A murder here, a lost dog there. Good next to bad, bad blurred with good. It was all trivial matters compared to the one who wore it. Trivial matters that would not affect her. The more that came, the easier it was to ignore, until now. Now they were no more than words, barely that left in her head.
She walked, a loose string tugging at her mind. To cut it off would be to unravel the rest, to leave it would present a flaw. Either way a lie. So she pulled at the thread, twisting it, testing it, waiting for it to break of its own accord, instead of leaving it to hang there. Maybe though, it would be better not to do anything. No lies to be said, no truths to break.
But a jacket will remain with a person, even long after all the strings have gone into threads. To throw it out early, would be to leave it sitting there, waiting for someone to come pick it up. To gain the problems, to win its successes.
She sat, as the loose thread began its unravelling. She had chosen. The threads began coursing through the air as the jacket shed its secrets. Truths were shared, lies were made.
And the jacket, that newspaper jacket, became little more than strings hanging on a loom, waiting to be stitched into another story.
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