draliman on life

Here is my story for Friday Fictioneers, hosted by Rochelle. She also provided the photo this week.

Theadorus was a Weaver. A Weaver-in-training, but a Weaver nonetheless. He wove not cottons and silks into garments, but the lines of fate into destinies.

His first solo project had not gone well. A strand had gone awry. The project’s most intelligent species was killing each other. There was war, famine, disease and poverty. And on top of all that, the climate was falling apart.

With a heavy sigh, he reached out and severed a single thread. Seven billion voices went silent as a planet imploded and was gone.

Sometimes there’s no help for it but to start over.