the last strand - geneviève laprise

Create.

Unravel. 

Snip.

The old woman holding the golden scissors sobbed as tears streamed down the crevasses of her experienced face. Her heart ached. This strand was far too short, like all she had seen over the millennia, but she still had to cut it. It was her purpose, but it hurt. Not only did her knobby joints tyre of the constant cutting, but her heart also bled from the pain she had and would cause billions of people, yet she severed the strand. The ends fell at her feet before disappearing into the cold, marble ground.

Vida glanced at the younger hand holding another thread out to her. Ignoring the waiting hand, she reached for a strand from her long, silver braid. The eldest sister pulled one out as the memories of her duty filled her thoughts. She surrendered her strand to the waiting hand. 

Her pleading milky-blue eyes locked on the emerald ones of her younger sister. Hope pleaded silently with the old woman to remain silent.

‘Cut it, please, I beg you. Sister, please cut it!’ cried the old woman. Both strands, a golden one and a silver one, were long and healthy, shimmering with golden light in the young woman’s tan hands.

Vida saw compassion and pity in Hope’s eyes, but she already knew the unspoken answer. Her sister could not cut the silver strand, for it was not her duty, and she did not have the strength to do it. It was Vida’s burden to carry, while Hope was blessed with watching the passage of time. 

Vida’s old trembling hands held the scissors. Only she could cut the thread of life. Her shoulders slumped as she took both strands from her sister’s manicured fingers and reluctantly cut the short golden thread, returning her own to the braided, unending silver strands.

Create.

Unravel.

Snip.

Another strand.

Another life well lived and ended far too soon.

Vida's swollen joints protested as she shifted her weight. Her frail body had always been in agony. She was born old and broken. She wished for the relief of death. She had everything she needed to end her life but was destined to live forever. 

‘Sister, you know we cannot do this for you,' replied the Hope, a beautiful woman in her mid-twenties with unblemished tan skin. 'You wield the scissors. You shall cut the threads of life until humanity is no more. Only then shall you be allowed to cut our strands. You, dearest of sisters, will be the last to stand,’ said Hope.

A quiet whimper escaped her as she listened to her duty, future, and destiny. 

The last sister to stand. 

Her burden grew heavier. 

Vida nodded as she gazed at Hope’s compassionate emerald eyes. Her curly, ebony hair framed her delicate face, and she wore a white silk pantsuit. The eldest sister winced as Hope gently squeezed her shoulder and returned her attention to the youngest sister, Destiny.

The young girl wore a cheery yellow dress, and her amber eyes glistened joyfully. Atop her head was a mop of multi-coloured hair—some black, some gold, silver, grey, and brown. Destiny smiled at her sisters and twisted the strands into a large knot.

She plucked a drab grey hair out and handed it to Hope. The middle sibling studied the thread in her left hand and gave it to her eldest sister, Vida. The old woman sighed but accepted it. Vida wept as the weight of her responsibility fell upon her. 

Snip.

She dropped the strand.

‘I would cut my thread myself if I could. Why must I stand as the last of us fall? I cannot live with his weight any longer,’ lamented Vida.

The youngest sister, Destiny, reached for a strand of golden hair. She studied it with a smile. ‘Precious little one, you were born so recently. What a beautiful soul you have.’ The girl plucked the hair from her head and gave it to Hope. She accepted the tiny golden hair with a sigh.

Create. 

‘I, too, am happy for you, newborn child,’ said Hope. ‘Rejoice, for your suffering ends before it begins.’

Unravel.

With a soft smile, Hope turned to Vida. Vida’s watery eyes fill with melancholy.

‘So much pain. Why? Why must I be the one to cause so much pain to the souls of the living? This child was born moments ago, and I must end its life. How many more will die because I cut these strands? How many will suffer?’ demanded Vida.

'They do not suffer, Sister. It is a gift for a child that would suffer tremendously were they to live,' answered Destiny.

'I know. Those who die receive the gift; those who live suffer.'

She held the tiny strand by its end.

Snip.

It slowly floated to the ground and disappeared.

‘Sisters, please. Take the scissors. Take my strand and release me from my fate.’

With a slow shake of their heads, Destiny and Hope continued their work.

Create.Unravel.

And Vida snipped, face sleek with tears, lined with pain both physical and emotional.

One day, Vida reached for Hope’s hand to accept the next life she would bring to an end and found nothing. She turned her weary eyes to where Hope and Destiny were and found them gone. A primordial cry escaped her throat, and it had come to pass. The last strand to cut was her own. She was unable to perform this task to release her from her agony. She sat with the golden scissors on her lap and sobbed, forgotten and alone.

Geneviève Laprise is a French Canadian writer who enjoys writing short format fiction and is trying her hand at becoming a novelist. When she is not writing, she can be found volunteering at various publication markets and helping authors on their writing journey. She also enjoys spending time with her family.