Flash: Got my hands burnt playing God

I was a world class knitter. It started as a hobby; something to occupy myself on the long commute into London. It started with single colour scarves. It’s funny to think how things begin. This harmless hobby infiltrated my whole life, it expanded into everything. At work I’d go to the loos as often as I could get away with, not to use them, but to do a bit of cheeky knitting. At night I’d literally dream patterns, then wake up the next day and create them. That is how I invented nose cosies, sloozos and cuddle jumpers. My scarves were no longer one colour but depicted meadows or zoos or sweeping constellations. I began to get commissions.
   After six months I quit my job and swapped my train journey for various local ‘stitch and bitch’ groups, where I learnt the finer nuances of knitting. Everyone was impressed by the speed of my needles, everyone was in awe of my exciting designs.
   Then I had a dream of epic proportions. I woke up and was unsure if it was madness or genius but I knew I had to make what I’d dreamt; I knew I had to be true to my heart. I started knitting a world. I worked so hard, I knitted so quickly, I knitted with angora and wool and nylon and polyester. And that was the problem. Such was the speed of my needles on the polyester that when I was just finishing the final ocean with its knitted fish, static started sparking. Before I’d realised what was happening the water caught fire, then the forests with all the animals and people and finally the sky. My beautiful knitted world went up in flames. I was distraught, I was bereft, I was covered in second degree burns. I hung up my needles for good. I’ve now taken up writing; it seems so much safer.