The door in space stood ajar. They approached it and stepped through.
She sat with long black hair flowing across her bare back working on the soul tapestry. Her deft fingers armed with an ivory needle flew as she weaved and weft through the loom. The fabric shimmered in a spectrum of colour, complex spiral patterns formed across the strands. Most tapestries were more uniform in colour and patterns. This was unique and belonged to a rare soul who enriched the lives of those around them.
As they watched her work, they realised that the tapestry length would be quite short.
Unfortunate, they thought to themselves, but such was the way of the universe.
“You are early,” The Soul Weaver spoke out. Her voice carried an annoyed edge to it.
They did not respond. Death was always on time.
The weaver paused in her movement holding up a single thread towards Death. They reached out but before they could seize it she began to weave again.
“Please do not continue.” Death whispered reaching towards her.
“Why not?” She snapped but kept the tone hushed. “This is a good person, who could make a lot of positive change in their world. But here you are ready to snatch that all away.”
“I do not make these choices. It is the way of things”
“Don’t you. I weave and you cut the final thread. Then I begin another. What difference does it make if I just finish?”
How short our memory is, they reflected. If only I could speak of this eternal curse and burden.
“Is that your choice Soul Weaver? You will finish this tapestry?”
She paused for a moment considering the work.
She looked death in the eyes.
“Yes.”
“Then I shall wait.”
The Soul Weaver continued. More complex patterns formed as the soul lived on. She laughed and cried as the piece came together. With each strand she wove there was a change in her. Her black hair began to lighten until it was the colour of ash. The once youthful skin of her hands began to wrinkle. Soon the tapestry was complete. It was one of the most beautiful there had ever been and ever would be. With a final sigh, the Soul Weaver’s hand fell limp to her side and the needle clattered to the floor. As if carried away by a breeze, her body and the tapestry disintegrated into stardust.
Death hesitated for a moment before lowering themselves into the seat. With a sigh, they picked up the needle and drew a new thread from the bobbin. This tapestry would not be as beautiful as the last but it would be long. This soul would have a good long life.
It had been some time since her previous tapestry. Yes, what had she been doing for all that time?
She looked up as she felt their presence enter the room. “I was beginning to wonder if you’d ever show up.”
I enjoyed this story, but got a bit lost in the end. So the Life weaver stopped weaving, then life ended, then death picked up the tapestry and started and would create another life? And then that life shows up? Or is it that Death decides to create a life of it's own by creating a life tapestry and a presence shows up that is the life death is creating? All this could be that I've not finished my coffee yet. I loved the story, just got a bit confused at the end.
Beautiful and disconcerting, love what you wrote