Tags: In Progress, Serials
The blizzard is wilder than Carrot Top on a coke spree. It’s so thick, I could cut it with a knife. And I would, if you trusted me with sharp implements. It’s been 8 years, but you still haven’t forgiven me for accidentally slicing your FabergÃ© watermelon in half with a katana. It wasn’t my fault; I was trying to cut the “sexual tension” and missed.
We’ve been trudging through the badlands of Canada for five weeks now, searching for “The One Spinner.” We haven’t met a soul. We have to fight with wolves and coyotes for every scrap of food we carry with us. It’s so cold, I’m starting to rethink all the ice cream I packed.
We were on a train to Bangalore, Ontario when the ambiguously Eastern-European gentleman approached us with this mission. We’d known about it for less than five minutes before my twin sister, Katerina Katamari, was brutally murdered. We jumped from the train and made our way to safety, but only after a magnificent explosion and three car chases. Now we trek alone through Kingston, which even in the summer is dark as night and more frostbitten than a nudist on Cold Mountain.
The man said Intunisia. That’s where we have to go to find The One Spinner. Google Maps says that’s 15,000 kilometers from here, or 9,320.57 miles. My gut says that’s a long way, and I trust my gut.
We manage to find an old farmhouse with a family living in it. The father, Barnabas, has the gnarled hands of a Tom Cruise impersonater, a large nose and a burly chest. His wife Zemira has a fat bum; the dog, a glass eye. The children are a mass of arms and legs and other moving parts too dizzying to be resolved into recognizable human shapes before they’ve whizzed off into another part of the house. They offer us food and wash our clothes, and ask us where we’re going.
“We can’t say,” you say. “It’s too dangerous.”
“I once did a gig at a scientology youth recruitment drive,” says Barnabas. “They were like rabid dogs in heat. Until you’ve seen a 13-year-old scientology convert try to eat your placenta, you haven’t seen danger.” He shudders and stuffs a sausage into his mouth. No one asks questions after that.
After dinner, the family sits down by the television and the two of us pull out our knitting. We haven’t gotten much done since the train. After a while, Zemira glances over at us and smiles.
“My sister used to spin. Would you like to see her yarn? You can have some of it, if you like. I haven’t knit in 10 years.”
A knitter can’t say no to that. She takes us up to the attic; it’s stuffed from top to bottom with broken chairs, dog calendars, painted trinkets and old Top Gun outfits. Zemira walks to the very back corner and pulls out an old cardboard box. It’s filled with delicate roving and a single skein of handspun silk, dyed green with a touch of turquoise. She hands it to you, and within seconds your fingers recognize the yarn, the texture, that characteristic twist. But it can’t be… Can it?
“Zemira… Who did you say your sister was?”
The attic door booms open and your heart nearly jumps out of its shoes. “Zemira! Our friends have company!”
A rocket-propelled grenade blows a hole in the attic wall. We’re met with a rain of fire and bullets. Zemira takes one in the arm. She dives for the box marked “Books & Guns” and pulls out an M-16 assault rifle, returning fire. I grab your arm and jump out of the house; we land in a carefully choreographed summersault and sprint into the woods.
We keep running for miles and miles before we’re sure we’ve lost them. We collapse by a tree and you pull out the yarn you’d stuffed in your pocket. The one key we have to finding The One Spinner. You notice a small card folded inside.
A rough sketch of what looks like a lace chart is scribbled next to the address. I inspect it carefully, and realize how similar it is to my own project. I reach for my knitting bag to compare them. My lungs twist as I realize that we left both our bags at the farmhouse. I turn to you, helplessly.
Itâ€™s time once again to choose where to go. Do you continue trekking towards the asiatic mists of Intunisia, or do you change course towards the Pentagon? And most importantly, do you go back for your knitting? Cast your vote in the comments!