Unraveled
Part 3 -A Shorts Story
Patricia took a couple of seconds to compose herself with a deep breath and smiled. " wanna catch some horses?", she asked as she studied Samuel's face for signs of disappointment. Hogglewashlet collapsed in an exhausted heap on his bed and let out a dramatic sigh. The yarn waited nervously for Samuel's response as he grinned again and said " too late! I shooed them all back in and tied the fence back together with stuff I had in my car- four shoelaces, two pairs of pants and three long- sleeved shirts. And yes, it looks like laundry day gone awry! Hehehe...."
Patricia laughed and said "well, in that case, let me grab some picnic stuff!" Samuel had brought two Greek salads and two bottles of water, so Patricia grabbed a quilt, the beautiful potted Kalanchoe plant and stuffed the yarn and needles in a bag, with the partially knitted sweater that she was keeping a surprise yet. Samuel picked a spot next to her big oak tree and they spread out the king size quilt and set everything down on it. They unpacked the food and water, and had delicious Greek salad for lunch. And then Patricia quietly pulled the partially knitted sweater out of the bag to show Samuel and make sure it would fit him. The yarn had been quiet up until now, but she heard a distinct snicker- and it wasn't Samuel. As she held up the sweater, she realized that it was in the shape of shorts instead of a sweater! She glared at the yarn and squished the bag closed, squeezing the yarn in a controlled but furious way while the needles clacked together in a captive kind of way. Suddenly, a squirrel appeared out of nowhere and grabbed the shorts, leaving a trail of yarn across the ground and up the big oak tree. The yarn tugged back, Patricia tugged and Samuel leapt up, turning his head so Patricia wouldn't see him giggling. "She sees everything", he thought, and sure enough she was looking at him when he glanced over in her direction. Was she giggling...
Stay tuned for part 4, which will be written by Rowan Finley. To find his profile, follow the link below:
About the Creator
Colleen Walters
Just a girl who likes to write poems, usually inspired by events and people in my Florida life.. Always be you, because you are awesome. You matter. You are enough.. ❤️
You can find me also on Facebook & Messenger and Discord
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Unraveled
It was a beautiful day. The thin cirrus clouds were draped across the deep blue sky like lazy feathers, and a warm breeze tickled the leaves on the old tree outside her window. Patricia was in the laundry room folding her clothes when the old dog sounded the alarm that there was an intruder. She went out to the living room and saw the familiar blue of the Amazon van with the smile through the window. The driver had already left the package on her doorstep so she went out and brought it in, wondering what she’d ordered this time. The box was light and when she ripped it open, there was the prettiest blue yarn and the shiny new knitting needles she’d ordered on a whim. As if she didn’t have enough stuff going on with work and school, and taking care of her property, she had decided to learn to knit and make her friend Samuel a sweater. Gifts were always a hard thing with him, and she figured a hand knit sweater would be fun to make as a bonus, because it would be practical. Samuel is a practical kind of guy, which is totally relatable for Patricia, because she silently sighs every time someone gives her a knickknack, a.k.a. “dust collector“.
By Colleen Waltersabout a year ago in Fiction
The Missing Ingredient
The first time I saw her, she was wearing a velvety, red ribbon in her hair. She carried a small leather backpack everywhere. She searched the forest by turning stones, checking beneath shrubs, listening to the wind as if it might carry an answer.
By Imola Tóth6 days ago in Fiction
What We Chose Not to See
The morning the cracks appeared, no one said a word. It started with the sound. A thin, splitting noise like glass bending under pressure. I heard it while brushing my teeth. The mirror above the sink trembled slightly, but when I looked at it, my reflection stood steady. Calm. Ordinary. Behind me, however, a thin black line ran from the ceiling to the floor. I blinked. It was gone. At breakfast, my mother spread butter across toast as if the world had never once disappointed her. “Did you hear that?” I asked. “Hear what?” she replied, not looking up. “That sound. Like something breaking.” She smiled faintly. “Old houses make noises.” Our house wasn’t old. I wanted to argue, but my father folded his newspaper with precise movements and stood up for work. The headline read: CITY REPORTS RECORD STABILITY Outside, the sky was pale gray. Not cloudy — just colorless, like someone had erased the blue. The air felt thick in my lungs. On the way to school, I noticed something else. The streetlight at the corner leaned slightly to the left, its metal pole twisted unnaturally. Cars drove past it without slowing. A woman pushing a stroller walked directly beneath it without glancing up. Didn’t they see? Or were they choosing not to? At school, the cracks were everywhere. A long fracture ran across the classroom wall, jagged and dark. The clock above the board ticked backward for three full seconds before correcting itself. No one reacted. Mr. Halpern continued explaining supply and demand as if time reversing was part of the curriculum. I raised my hand. “Sir, the clock—” He didn’t look at it. “Focus on your notes.” “But it just—” “Everything is functioning normally,” he said firmly. The class nodded. I stopped talking. By afternoon, the air outside carried a faint smell of smoke. Not strong enough to cause panic. Just noticeable enough to make breathing uncomfortable. People walked with their usual rhythm. They checked their phones. They laughed. They ordered coffee. The café windows reflected the street, but something was wrong with the reflections. Buildings looked taller in the glass. Skewed. Like they were stretching upward beyond the sky. I stepped closer to look. In the reflection, I wasn’t alone. Behind me stood a crowd of faceless figures. Perfectly still. Watching. I turned. The street was empty. When I looked back at the glass, the reflection was normal again. A barista tapped on the window from inside. “We’re closing early.” “Why?” I asked. She hesitated. Just for a second. “Maintenance.” Smoke drifted faintly above the rooftops. No alarms sounded. That night, the cracks returned. This time they didn’t disappear. They spread across the ceiling like lightning frozen in place. My bedroom light flickered. The air hummed. From downstairs, I heard my parents talking in soft, measured voices. “…it’s spreading faster.” “…don’t scare him.” “…if we act normal, it stabilizes.” I froze. If we act normal. Stabilizes what? The humming grew louder. A picture frame fell from the wall, its glass shattering against the floor. I ran downstairs. The living room ceiling had split open. Not wide — just enough to reveal darkness beyond it. Not night sky darkness. Not empty space. Movement. Slow. Shifting. Breathing. My mother stood beneath it with her arms crossed. “Mom,” I whispered. “You see that, right?” She didn’t look up. “See what?” “The ceiling!” “It looks fine.” My father placed a hand on my shoulder. His grip was firm. Too firm. “Listen to me,” he said quietly. “Nothing is happening.” “But it is.” He leaned closer. “The more you acknowledge it, the worse it becomes.” The crack above us pulsed. Dust fell like ash. I felt something inside me twist. “So we just pretend?” “Yes,” my mother said gently. “That’s how we’ve always survived.” Survived what? The house groaned. The next morning, half the sky was gone. Where blue should have been, there was only blankness. Not clouds. Not storm. Just absence. News channels played cooking shows. Social media was full of selfies under a disappearing sky. #Blessed #AnotherBeautifulDay The city continued moving. I stood in the center of the street and stared upward. The blank space spread slowly, swallowing color inch by inch. Birds flew into it and never came out. A man beside me checked his watch. “Traffic’s bad today.” “Look up,” I said. He frowned. “At what?” The blankness crept closer to the sun. Shadows sharpened. Windows began cracking outward. Still, no one screamed. My chest tightened. Maybe they were right. Maybe acknowledging it made it worse. Maybe silence was safety. A loud snap split the air as the leaning streetlight finally broke in half, crashing onto a parked car. People stepped around it casually. I looked at the sky again. It was nearly all gone now. Only a thin strip of blue remained, trembling like fragile glass. My reflection appeared in a nearby shop window. Behind me stood the faceless crowd again. But this time, they weren’t watching. They were fading. And in the reflection, I saw something else. Cracks spreading across my own skin. Thin. Dark lines tracing my arms. I touched my face. Smooth. Untouched. But in the glass, I was breaking. The last piece of blue sky shattered without sound. Everything turned white. Blinding. Endless. I waited for panic. For screams. For collapse. Instead— Voices. Calm. Measured. “Beautiful morning.” “Everything’s fine.” “Nothing unusual.” The white brightness softened. Buildings reappeared. The sky returned — perfect blue. No cracks. No smoke. No blankness. The streetlight stood upright again. The car was undamaged. People walked past me with mild annoyance. I rushed home. The ceiling was whole. The walls smooth. My parents sat at the table drinking coffee. “Rough night?” my mother asked lightly. “You remember it,” I said. “You have to.” My father folded his newspaper. The headline read: CITY REPORTS RECORD STABILITY He met my eyes. “For things to remain,” he said carefully, “some things must go unseen.” My reflection in the window smiled before I did. And that was when I understood. The cracks hadn’t been in the world. They had been in me. And everyone else had learned the secret long ago: Ignore the fracture. Ignore the smoke. Ignore the missing sky. Because if even one person refuses to pretend— The illusion breaks. And maybe the world with it. So I sat down. Picked up my cup. Looked at the perfect ceiling. And said nothing.
By Inayat khanabout 2 hours ago in Fiction
Comments (3)
If you dare read part four, follow the link below: https://todaysurvey.life/fiction/unraveled-part-4%3C/span%3E%3C/span%3E%3C/span%3E%3C/a%3E%3C/p%3E%3C/div%3E%3C/div%3E%3C/div%3E%3Cstyle data-emotion-css="w4qknv-Replies">.css-w4qknv-Replies{display:grid;gap:1.5rem;}
Such a fun and quirky story! I love the surprise twist with the yarn and the whole picnic scene. Patricia and Samuel’s banter is spot-on, and the squirrel just adds to the chaos in the best way. So playful and charming!😍✨
This is such a fun ride of comical activity! Loved it! The part that made me laugh the most was when the shorts appeared to look more like pants.