4. Threads of Hell

The world changed from pure black to grey. The world being reduced to monochromatic scenery. My leggings being reduced to a recreation of Jackson Pollock if colour was too expensive. I looked around where I was, as colour finally started to reach my eyes. I was inside a pentagonal room. Each side covered in a tapestry. There was an ornate scene of a man on his knees bowing down in front of a huge wave, a man ploughing a field with his horse, a starving urchin stealing an apple from a stall, a mime shooting an imaginary police officer with his imaginary gun (or so I assume, I had to fill in the blanks) and a picture of a cat wearing a slice of bread. 

I was clearly in hell, no self respecting man would wear a such a dreadful and drab brown dress to the beach, referring to the tsunami, and who would not just wear a hat to cover their bald spot? Clearly he had no shame. I had no qualms with the cat, he was clearly enjoying his daily bread. I sniggered aloud and listened to the impossible echo that followed. 

I decided to check I had all my bits before the demons would arrive and relieve me of them. I was all there, except my precious was gone! My bundle of stolen threads was gone. Though, remembering it had gotten me into this mess I did feel a small sense of relief. Who knew cotton could ruin your life? And this missing little ball had engulfed me in someone’s poor taste art gallery. I mean, come on! It clearly needed more kittens!  

I dragged myself up off the cold fake turf floor. The fake plastic fronds scratching my knees. I looked down and saw that I had put holes in the knees of my jeggings at some point. The holes now making the rainbows look like neon coloured tentacles pulling in hapless unicorns to a hairy knee monster. Swallowing my tears at such a travesty to fashion I focused on the pictures. Clearly they had meaning. I examined the bread cat tapestry. I felt a breeze across my face and not a pleasant one. It clearly smelt of old people, that kind of smell that you suck up and smile away whenever you visit the relatives. But, the thing I noticed from the tapestries wafting in the stank was that the tapestries were not hung over walls, but doors!  

My way was clear. This was a test! My theft was clearly supposed to lead to some sort of psychological awakening. Figuring it was probably something about not eat cheese after labour day on a full moon, I perused the paintings to choose my exit strategy. Clearly the man on the beach was out for obvious reasons. Eww exercise, the plough was out. The urchin clearly has not heard of MasterCard. Duh! It is like free money! This just left the mime and the cat.  

This was a hard choice, the cat was cute, but the mime was hilarious. I focused on the messages they were trying to tell me. The cat was clearly about self sacrifice and the mime a rebellious nature against authority. The choice was clear, cat it was and in bread I would trust. With refilled confidence I pulled the tapestry aside, pushed the door open and strode into the darkness, closing the door behind me. If I had eyes in my butt, with x-ray vision, I would have seen the tapestry flowing back into place to cover my door. Except, the cat was gone. Instead I would have seen it was replaced with a tapestry of a loom. The settling movements of the tapestry almost making the loom seem alive. Click-Clack. Click-Clack.