She Unravels - By Doris Pushpam

Written By: Doris Pushpam

Category: Short Story

Competition: Global Poetry and Creative Writing Competition 2026

In the realm of storytelling, Doris Pushpam presents "She Unravels," a profound short story that delves into the relentless cycle of creation and survival. Part of the Global Poetry and Creative Writing Competition 2026 by Hashtag Kalakar, this piece captures the essence of perseverance amid adversity. Through vivid imagery and an intricate narrative, Doris weaves a tale that resonates deeply with the human spirit, offering a glimpse into a world where the mundane becomes a canvas for profound reflection.

About the Work

"She Unravels" carries a weighty narrative that immerses readers in the life of a seamstress entangled in a ceaseless routine. The story explores themes of endurance and the subtle interplay between labor and identity. Doris Pushpam masterfully employs a detailed and haunting style, using imagery of fabric and thread to symbolize the character's relentless existence. The story's mood is both contemplative and melancholic, inviting readers to ponder the meaning of resilience and the cost of survival.

She Unravels

Original Submission by Doris Pushpam

SHE UNRAVELS

She picks a spool of thread; she doesn’t care what colour. She unravels it and threads a needle with ease. She then chooses the fabric from the many options that hang on her walls. She chooses one that matches the colour of the thread. She knows the measurements by heart as she cuts the browning tracing paper. She cuts out the body piece then the sleeves, the skirt and the collar piece. She attaches the paper to the fabric and cuts. All she hears are the snips of the blade sometimes accompanied with the crunch of fabric as she cuts. She cuts a perfect line every time.

They expect a few garments from her at the end of every day. She is used to meeting their expectations. They pay her a pittance for her work, barely enough for her family to live on. She sits on her bed as she sews in the middle of a large room surrounded by walls of fabric covering the deteriorating wooden walls. She smells the decay no matter where she sits. The smell is gradually replaced by something else. She could never put her finger on it. It smelled of familiarity and comfort. She looks down at her needle and smiles. The fabric is stained red, though it looks brown today because the fabric is blue. The scent calms her and she sews till she is finished. She soaks the garment in warm water and the blood washes away. She hangs it on the clothing line that runs from one end of the room to the other.

Then she picks another spool of thread, the colour doesn’t matter. It never has and it never will. She cuts the fabric and it all starts again. This time she makes a skirt. She doesn’t look down. She knows that every seam she creates is right. It feels right. She hears the whispers of her blood, and they tell her she is right. She delights in the pain she feels as the needle point sinks into her skin. It’s the only time she ever feels anything at all.

She gets lost in the stitches, her mind buried in the seams. She has to get this done. She has to work faster. She must use up all the fabric. She tries to but there is always more. She has never seen the wooden walls she smells decaying. All she sees is cloth. All she sees are colours. There is always more.

Her fingers are mangled and sticky now. The needle drips with blood. The thread is dyed a bright burgundy. She doesn’t remember what colour it was before. The thread sticks to her fingers. As she tries to pull the thread away, her skin comes away too. She stops to wash her hands and then she continues. She is blood and thread.

They find her usual stack of clothes ready for sale, not a seam out of place. They also find her lost in her blood. They bandage her hands and give her a thimble. They tell her they expect the same stack tomorrow.

She wakes up the next morning, puts the thimble on and gets to work. Her bleeding thumbs are no more. She is still surrounded by walls of fabric. It is all she sees. It is all she is. She threads her needle with ease and she cuts the fabric. She lets the scissors go where they please, taking bits of her skin off too. She has to get this done. She has to work faster. She has to use up all the fabric. She doesn’t understand that there will always be more. She will never see the wooden walls. She will be surrounded by cloth and spools of thread all her life. All she has is thread as she sews away the rest of her days.

Today they brought her a sewing machine. She has never seen one before. She has never even heard of it before. She has heard nothing for a long while. She has seen nothing but cloth and thread. After teaching her how to use the machine, they tell her that they expect more clothes tomorrow or her wages will be deducted. She doesn’t make much but it is better than nothing. A wage cut would mean that one of her children will starve. She threads a new needle and gets to work.

She sits at the sewing machine, her new companion, and as she sews she lets her mind roam free. Alas, her mind doesn’t know what freedom is. It stays focused on the walls before her. Red, blue, green, orange, purple. A rainbow before her and behind her. They are everywhere she looks. They are everything she touches. She longs for grey and shades of black but those do not sell in this town.

She doesn’t know if she likes the machine. Her hands worked faster. She was more familiar with every inch of a needle than the many nooks of a sewing machine. She has no time to get used to it because there is a knock at the door. She folds her last garment and puts it in a pile. Someone walks in and carries them away. For a second she has nothing to do. That second never lasts. She cannot rest or her children will starve.

She picks a spool of thread. It doesn’t matter what colour. Nothing ever matters. She unravels it and threads the needle. She then chooses the fabric from the many options that hang on her walls. She chooses one that matches the colour of the thread. She knows the measurements by heart as she cuts the browning tracing paper. She cuts out the body piece then the sleeves, the skirt and the collar piece. She attaches the paper to the fabric and cuts. All she hears are the snips of the blade as it slides through the fabric. She cuts a perfect line every time. Thus her life goes on and on. Snip after snip, loop after loop. A never-ending cycle of thread and cloth.

About the Competition

The Global Poetry and Creative Writing Competition 2026 by Hashtag Kalakar celebrates the richness of global voices in literature. This prestigious event invites participants from around the world to share their unique narratives, whether through poetry, short stories, or creative writing. As a platform for emerging and established writers alike, the competition fosters a diverse tapestry of themes and styles, providing a stage for literary expression without borders.

We extend our heartfelt thanks to Doris Pushpam for her moving contribution, "She Unravels," to the Global Poetry and Creative Writing Competition 2026. Her story offers a poignant reflection on the human condition, weaving a narrative that lingers in the mind. It is a privilege to share such a compelling piece with our audience, celebrating the art of storytelling and the power of the written word.

About Hashtag Kalakar

Hashtag Kalakar is a creative platform dedicated to providing artists, writers, singers and other creative talents with opportunities to showcase their work and reach wider audiences through competitions, features and creative initiatives.