To Be Eternal
Rachel Moulton
Issue #4 (June 2008)
Her fingers ached and her eyes were tired. She’d been here for hours, hunched forward over her spinning wheel with the delicate fiber rubbing over her hands and leaving blisters in the creases of her fingers.
The sun had set mere minutes ago, but already her eyes were tearing up as she squinted through the dark at her handiwork. Her foot kept working the pedal, habit taking over where strength and will had failed. Occasionally she would murmur to herself, or she would hum, or she would sigh - anything to fill the empty and silent hours that she spent in this place.
Time passed, but instead of minutes and hours it was measured in lengths of thread and the clack of her spinning wheel. Even her heartbeat seemed to pound in time to the clicking wood and creaking string, and her chest shivered and swelled with the pulse of the spinning bobbin. Her body was not her own any longer.
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