Hands old and young knitting and clicking, the rhythms making long scarves take shape. Over the top laughter provides the melody to the erratic beat.
Suddenly, the oldest clears her throat to silence the group before announcing:
Listen and never forget.
When the fascists came we all fought. I was just 13, but I did my part. I knew in my heart what my needles could do and what must be done.
She picks up her knitting again, leaving everyone to think.
Slowly the beat begins again, now more rhythmic and in line. And no one speaks for some time.
Written for Friday Fictioneers from the following picture prompt (see here for other stories):
PHOTO PROMPT © Ted Strutz
