Do You Get It?

Tied Up With Strings

It only took Ink 3 minutes to make a ace wrap for my arm by hand knitting his tears. It becomes a dark blue security blanket for my healing hand and my newly energized nervousness. If I can't wring my hands subconsciously, then might as well fiddle with a few loose strings.

Ink was able to craft this up with the ends of two paintbrushes that were on me. And now he is trying to teach me how to knit. Let's just say for having only one fully functional hand and being a neophyte in this skill, I still sucked. I could never remember the difference between purl and knit or which direction to wrap the thin string.

Frustration, my life long parasite, laughs at my struggle. But in spite of him, I continue onward. At least it was my left hand that was injured because the right is the one constantly moving, threading the string with the needle. Ink tries to point out things that I'm doing wrong and at first it was helpful. But now he is now narrating every single step and I'm starting to get annoyed. One wrong move and the row I was starting just falls apart.

How can making knots with chop sticks be so difficult. If anything this is causing more emotions to pop up. "Okay, this is hopeless." I say putting the knitted ball of thread down. Frustration causes my mind to go at 100 miles an hour. What if we aren't able to fix this? What if I'm not able to create anything? Will it get worse? What's going to happen to Ink if he doesn't destroy something soon? Do the papers have anything to do with anything?

Instead of picking the ball of string back up, I take a stand. I venture forward out of Ink's line of sight and open up a pocket of the Anti-Void. If I don't store my stuff in side these little breaches, what ever I leave in here while I'm gone will just...disappear. I pull out the first 30 pages on a stack of over 100 pages.

They aren't in any order, but if they were I wouldn't be able to tell. That's why I have resulted in ordering it from the newest findings on top to the oldest on the bottom. I walk back over to Ink who was undoing the rest of the messed up square. Even undoing something peacefully seems to calm his demeanor. I drop the stack of papers as I sit back down. Doing so I unintentionally startle his and his reaction to the error sign that pops up makes me chuckle. "What are you laughing at? How do you even get rid of these things" he asks annoyed at the new error sign that has popped in his line of sight. I shrug not really wanting to answer. The memories of all the crashes makes me slump my shoulders. As much as I want to swap back, I'm kind of glad that I can see. I'm without glasses...or errors.

Ink takes my rejection with a grain of salt and instead picks up the stack of papers on the floor. I snatch the yarn that he's dropped, now desperate to try again. I start of slow and tense. Wanting perfection causes more slip ups than anything else. Ink ignores my struggling and starts to read the top papers. "They are in order, so try not to mess them up." I say focused in looping the yarn. The deepness of his concentration prevents him from hearing me.

He pours himself over the collection, probably not having seen them since he made them. I slowly but surely continue on making the square. Stick the needle in, wrap around, and pull. After the series of too tight and too loose stitches, it starts to become more automatic. After the 3rd row, it starts to come naturally. Ink continues to shuffle the papers. Some have pages and pages of repeating symbols. Others have diagrams and sketches.

I finish the ending row and toss the one needle to the side. I clumsily knot it off and hold the finished project in my hand. And having that sense of accomplishment fills me with a calm hope. A hope that I won't punch a hole in another wall if I can help it. And quite possibly a hope that things can get better.

Cause it's a twisted thing to have your whole reality flipped upside down. It's an ironic moment where you are able to make something better out of something worse. Create something out of pain. Be driven by all the horrors that plague your every day. The burdens that weigh down your every step. The strings that force you to be someone that you can't ever change. This stupid piece of square is an anomaly. Something that should never have existed. Huh, I guess it's just like me then.