Fiction: Loose Ends

Its the coming apart that is frightening. You see the first thread start to pull and you think it should hold. You notice the tension on the fabric, but you think to yourself "naaaaah, should be fine... it's strong enough." Maybe you even snip a couple loose ends. That ought to do the trick nicely.

Or you've seen the loose thread and you absentmindedly worry it like a loose tooth. that kind of pain that is almost pleasant. Comforting? Wrong word.

Then it starts to unravel. You stop to do something else and its all coming undone right in front of you. How? When? Jesus. Make it stop.

There is proper triage for that sort of mess. But you can never think straight when it happens. You are bewildered. Half the time you grab the thread in a panic and pull thinking you can snap it off... but it always makes it worse. Why do you always grab and pull? Why? Like a moth to the flame every damned time. Then you stare in disbelief... at the frayed hole and your own stupidity.

Fuck Fuck Fuck... that's not even on a seam, is it? No.

Keep your eyes closed.

How to patch? Will it work? Will you look later, see the patch and only be reminded of the hole? No, hopefully you will just be glad the whole damned thing did not come apart before the pulling stopped.