The sound of a thousand pairs of knitting needles clinking together filled the large factory room. In there, tables were lined up next to eachother as well as behind one another in a big square pattern. Every one of these tables were taken – each chair was occupied by an elderly, kind-looking lady with knitting needles in her hands, knitting away blissfully. The threads being used were of all kind of colors that worked together nicely to create interesting shapes and patterns. What were they knitting? If it had to be called something, it would be closest to a really long scarf, the other end entering a large hole on the far end of the table and into the floor below, disappearing who-knows-where. After all, the product was not the point. The knitting was.
Nobody looked up when the door opened and two men dressed in suits entered the room. One of them was wearing a rather standard black outfit, and had his brown hair cut short and licked back to look as official as possible. Whether that worked or not would be a subjective opinion. The other man was dressed much more peculiarly – his suit was worn over what seemed to be a gray overall. The look was topped off with a black hood that hid his face, and an open robe that was flowing behind him like a cape.
“…So this is the knitting floor, sir, one of countless.” the latter explained. “This is where the yarn I told you about is being used. We knit them together to create the desired effect.”
The man in the suit nodded, looking around. “So if I understand it right, Mr. Jackson… this is how life is managed. Is that right?”
“Well…” Jackson tilted his head, but then nodded. “Technically, yes, but we like to call it weaving the world’s destiny. It sounds a lot more… refined. Nevertheless, as I explained earlier, we have a large collection of threads in this facility, each corresponding to a specific person in the world. Here, let me show you, sir.”
The two then hurried across the room as the man continued to speak. “I assure you, the board would approve of our methods, sir. If you have any questions, I’d be more than happy to answer them on the way.”
“I think I have a few questions.” the board representative said. “First of all… I still feel a bit in-the-dark about what exactly is happening here. I get that the colored yarns each represent a life on Earth, but what does knitting them together do?”
“It’s simple.” Jackson said as the two passed by several tables. “As you say, each thread is a life. The kind ladies here knit them together into what essentially are colorful blankets, making those people meet and split apart accordingly. A large part of life is about the people you meet along the way, so this shapes destiny quite a lot. That is our job here.”
“For such a large task, there are not that many workers here.” the man said, looking around.
“Oh, this is just one knitting floor. We have thousands like this one.”
“Ah, I see…” the board representative nodded. “My next questions… Are there any rules or guidelines set in place for the knitting process? I mean, surely it’s not random chance what these elderly workers decide on their own.”
“There are some safety rules and precautions in effect, but other than that, we mostly just let the professionals handle the decisions.” Jackson explained.
“The professionals being…”
“These workers, yes.” he nodded.
“Isn’t that kind of… irresponsible?” The representative frowned a little.
“Oh, don’t worry about it. They know what they’re doing, and they make amazing tapestries.”
Before the representative could reply to that, they arrived to a door on the other side of the room labeled “storage”. It was large enough that a man twice their size could fit through, but Jackson still seemed to have opened it with ease.
On the other side, a large room was revealed to the two, so large in fact that the other side disappeared into the dim light that illuminated the shelves. Those shelves, hundreds or even thousands of them, towering high above everything else… each of them had balls of yarn, or thread or whatever they were, lined up in neat rows, and each of them had their own label, like “Steven Smith, New York, USA” or “Jacqueline Nicollier, Paris, France”. Some of them had the same label, but in those cases they were always a different color. There must have been hundreds of thousands of them in the room, if not more.
“This is just one of our countless storage rooms, sir.” Jackson explained. “This is where our workers retrieve the material they use to work with. Using a ladder if necessary. I assure you that about ninety percent of all yarn here gets used at least once a week, ensuring a dynamic and top quality destiny for everyone involved.”
The representative was still speechless as he looked at the labels, then tentatively turned back towards Jackson.
“I just have one more question then.”
“Go ahead, sir.”
The man glanced at the shelves. His expression reflected both worry and curiosity as he put the pieces together in his head, contemplating what he learned today as well as the logical conclusion of that knowledge. After a few seconds of hesitation, he finally spoke.
“…Is my yarn here as well?”
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