They’re knitted in a shiny yarn with thin, pink stripes that remind me of you, of that pair of lines heralding your brief existence. They were a secret Santa gift. I’d missed the present swap, having called in sick when the bleeding started.
“You’ll spoil the fun!” my colleague chided, as I messaged to say I’d not be in.
I returned, hollow, marched past the twinkling lights, gave and received a gift. Tried to match my face to the festive glow.
I can’t slip my fingers into those glad tidings. But I can’t bring myself to throw them away, either.
This story was shortlisted in the November monthly micro fiction competition.
About the author:
Katie Holloway has never been able to help being a writer. She is fueled by strong tea and snatches of alone time. Her stories have been published in a number of journals. In 2022 she was awarded a DYCP grant from the Arts Council England. Katie tweets @KatieLHWrites.