Knit one, purl one…
Her knotted fingers hurt a little, but she still loved making socks, mittens and sweaters for her loved ones. And she really wanted to finish the scarf she had started before her family rang the door bell.
The room was silent, apart from the sound of the needles hitting each other as she knitted row after row with impressive speed. She was almost a legend, in her senior’s home, for her almost 100th anniversary and her special gift to transform whool into almost anything one could wear.
She didn’t care much for that attention.
Knit one, purl one… Knit one, purl one…
She had had four lovely children who had given her thirteen grand children. The grand kids had grown up and given her twenty one grand-grand children, which had given her a number of grand-grand-grand children, but quite honestly, she had lost count.
Knit one, purl one… Knit one, purl one… Knit one, purl one…
She wished he was still there to see the family they had founded. Wayne had been the love of her life, but he had died way too early. She didn’t want to change the past, nor did she think she could.
It still felt weird, that fifty years ago, he had lost his life in a car accident. And being at the right place at the right moment, she had received his heart in an organ transplant.
She shed a tear, missing him and thanking him at the same time.
This short fiction is a ”practice” for November’s NYC Midnight 250 word Microfiction Challenge, using one of the NYC Midnight Challenges previous prompts: Romance / Knitting / Organ.