A Short Short Story Alana Graffam He grabbed three sweaters from the enormous rack of used clothing in the mens section. One sweater was a mellow orange with tiny polka dots of different blue colours. The other was a plain black with some logo of some sporthouse. The third one was of every bright coloured thread possible and it seemed as though the sewing machine was so overwhelmed by so many colours it blew up, vomiting out that sweater with no specific thread order, or color, or even shape. When he tried on the polka dot sweater he felt handsome, a little bit daring even. He puffed up his chest, put his hand in his pockets and felt incredibly cool. He tried different stances to make sure the sweater looked good in every angle. When he was satisfied he decided he would get it. He tried on the black sweater. It was okay, neither good nor bad. He asked himself if he really needed it and quickly decided he didn’t. He tried on the multicoloured sweater. The sweater was ecstatic! Finally, finally someone dared to try him on! The sweater tried its best to hug every part of the man it could and attempted to make its colours shine even brighter. With every thread it tried to pass the man good vibrations and every thread vibrated with life, tingling the man with their happiness. The sweater was proud and hugged the man even further. Love me! Need me! Take me! But the sweater hugged the man so tight it burst and millions of coloured threads shot up the sky like a display of fireworks. Each thread shouted a tiny noise of freedom and gently fell swaying slowly down to the floor. Their colours fading as they hit the ground becoming a graveyard of threads.The man was left in a state of stupefaction, but instead of acknowledging what happened, quickly grabbed the polka dot sweater and left, afraid that they would charge him for a sweater that exploded.
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