The Bead Loom, Part 2

The phone rang. Margaret started to get up only to realize if she let go of her string the bead work she just did might fall apart. “Oh, tits,” she said aloud. It was probably just telemarketers or Mom calling to make sure Margaret hadn’t gone out. The answering machine clicked on, but not in…

The Bead Loom, Part 1

The attending opened her mouth to speak and Margaret sighed on the inside. The worst question in man’s spoken history of inquiry was about to get asked of Margaret. She faced this line of questioning every 6.5 days. The internal content, the individual components shifted, but de conversation totale was always the same. Margaret must…