Written piece
The Threads That Forget
Roshane Phillips
Sri Lanka
About this piece
A short story that uses the extended metaphor of a tapestry to explore themes of human unity and division. It narrates the dream of an old woman, broken as humanity faded into darkness.
I went to my grandmother's room when I got home, and I was surprised by the unexpected warmth. She was sitting in her wooden chair. A tapestry in her soft hands. I was reminded of something by the sight.
She was weaving another tapestry, the scene was familiar. "Grandma, why do you use such bright colors? They don't complement each other," I had questioned her. I could feel her wise eyes gaze at me. "You'll see soon child." I kept a close eye on her as she repeatedly missed and pricked her hands. But the elderly woman refused to give up. She continued to weave, and although my curiosity did its best to keep my eyes open, I finally gave in to sleep as my eyelids grew heavy.
A few hours later, I awoke. "Well, you're awake," my grandmother remarked. "You questioned why I used so many colours. Come see what I've created.
She raised the cloth. The mixed colours had transformed into a sophisticated, multicolored lion.
She whispered, "Remember this, my child." Although these threads have different colors, they are still threads. Until the loom reminds them that they are all part of the same design, each one thinks it stands alone. Perhaps one day people will remember that too.”
I looked at the cloth in confusion. “But Grandmother, we are humans, not threads.”
She smiled gently. “You will see with time, my boy.”
Well Time had passed, The same old woman sat in the same old chair, weaving the same old tapestry and clinging to the same old dream.
“Grandson,” she called. The weakness in her voice frightened me. “Could you please turn on my radio?”
I turned away and reached for the switch behind my grandmother’s cupboard of sewing tools.
Then a soft sheet of fabric drifted down to my feet. I bent down to pick it up.
It had torn.
From the radio behind me, a calm voice announced that humanity had once again… gone to war. I slowly looked back at my grandmother.
She sat still in her wooden chair, her hands resting quietly in her lap.
The threads of the lion hung loose where the cloth had split.