Implicit Plot story

1,2,3, Me

She knew what was going to happen, she had for a long time, but never wanted to face the facts. She figured now was a better time than any to pick up the needlepoint she had so longed to finish and actually complete it. Dottie walked over to her armoire, opened the wooden drawer and took out a piece of cloth and thread. She shuffled back over to her leather, green armchair and sat down. She took a long sip of her peach iced tea, wiped her hands on the cat near her feet and picked up the needle. Her shaky hands were steadied as she recreated the motion of years of practice, threading the needle.
The first color to go was orange. She took the cloth in her tiny hands and poked the needle through. Back and forth, back and forth, meticulous motions with an amazing result. The orange thread was soon spent leaving a single shooting star darting across the white background.

Next was the brown. Again back and forth, back and forth until a small animal could be seen in the background as well. A loud crash came from outside, shaking the ground below. “That’s one,” she muttered to herself as she sipped the iced tea. She placed the needlepoint on the table in front of her, picked up the cat and proceeded towards the kitchen. She casually sliced the bread, placed tomatoes, pickles, onion and turkey on it and topped if off with more iced tea; back to the chair.
Dottie picked up the needle once again, only this time with green thread.

She poked it through and brought it back, poked it through and brought it back several hundred times before some as semblance of grass could be seen forming. She cut the excess thread with her teeth just as another crash emerged from outside. “That’s two,” she whispered to the cat as she pet it on his small, furry head.

Next was blue for the sky and more brown for the house. She diligently sewed these as quickly as her frail hands would let her. Her breathing began to quicken as she put the final touches on the sky and the quaint home. A window broke somewhere upstairs and glass flew everywhere. “That’s three,” she said as she took a deep breath and pulled out the pink.

More quickly than before, she constructed a head, a small body, shoes, eyes, a purse, some hair, glasses and a small, furry cat next to it all. A single whistle could be heard, moving closer and closer. As she cut the last bit of thread, she grabbed her cat, looked at the needlepoint one last time and breathed, “That’s me,” while closing her eyes.