Forever The Best

My loom never stops. What comes out of it are works of art. I’m not the only one who says that. People come from far and wide to look at my creations, to admire my intricate designs, the colours on my warps and wefts mixing, blending and bleeding to become a wondrous melody. It’s pure magic I weave, I know. Others have tried to imitate me and be faster, cleverer than me but I just know nobody can best me. Weaving is my pride, the results my joy.

Since I was four, I’ve participated in the annual competition our queen has patronised. I won it for the first time when I was nine and continued to do so every year. Oh, it’s not the prize that drives me but my pride. I’m simply the best weaver who’s ever lived and my wish is to be remembered for centuries to come.

Today it’s competition day and it won’t be different from previous years. Nobody can beat me. It’s always the usual faces, the same tired, boring designs. However, today I spot someone new at the loom beside mine. She is nothing much to look at, but her piercing azure eyes never leave my face, her hands flying on the loom. Whatever I try, she can do it too, she seems to be reading my thoughts and it’s not good…

I struggle but carry on doggedly, winning is the only result. I don’t even notice the light and dark alternating in the sky, all I see are my rival’s hands finally still on her loom. The cheer from the crowd is deafening and I know I have won. I’ll be the best weaver forever and ever.

My rival is smiling but her eyes are now full of mockery, then malice when an owl suddenly lands on her shoulder.

“You’ll always be remembered as the best weaver! Wasn’t this what you wished?” she hypnotically whispers.

She seems to become taller and taller or is it me who is suddenly so small? And the horror of my new eight hairy limbs!