Master of the threads

Who are you?

Names are such a human concept. Hari, Ganga, Faizal, Tom – except for their possible religious affiliations, what else can you gauge from their names? Fine, if you really want a name, here is one – U. N. Owen[1]. Forget my name. The question you should be asking is..

What are you?

Excellent question. I’m glad you asked. I was once a rectangle of threads, and this is my story.

Many many months ago, I was created by Master. Master is human, and if it weren’t for her I would be a formless lump of thread. I was a healthy young rectangle when Master began behaving extremely odd. It was as though I no longer existed to her. She created me, filled me with hopes and aspirations of a bright future and then abandoned me.


I was devastated. I was too young and frail to fend for myself. I would cry and yell my lungs out for Master to notice me but with no avail. I watched her create other beings and nurture them. They went on to hold respectable positions and paid me no attention. I had lost all hope. I was so tired, alone, and hungry. Until one day..


No, it can’t be! Master picked me up and held me! I was not going to let her abandon me again. I guess Master saw something in me after all. I was overjoyed and could not contain my tears. She gave me a ball of thread to feast on. It was my lifeline. She left me on the floor to eat. I had no complaints; Master acknowledged me and gave me life!


So I ate.


And ate.


And ate.


And ate till there was no more food left. I needed to prove to Master that I’m not just a rectangle. So I joined my ends together. I became infinite. Looking at my form, Master draped me around her neck. I was finally getting the respect I deserved.


But, I waited too long for this. All the months of neglect had eaten away my happiness. I no longer wanted to be hung around what made miserable. An idea popped in my ‘mind’. I quickly twisted myself and went around Master’s neck.


Master was struggling to breathe. Why would I let her breathe? If I can survive without Oxygen, then so should she. Within minutes she gasped her last and collapsed on the ground.


Who am I?

I am Master.

1. From Agatha Christie’s And Then There Were None. I know, I’m so original.

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in: Logo

You are commenting using your account. Log Out /  Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s