She liked beginnings best.  She designed, you know, colors and patterns just falling into place under her guidance.  She liked beginning things, chattering about how they’d come together in the end.

In the end.  That’s where I came in.  She didn’t like those, endings.  So she’d always pass them to me, abandon them to my hands.  I did my best to live up to her vision.

She did have to do her own ending, once.  And since then... there are no more beginnings.

And without beginnings, there’s nothing more for me to do.

It’s the end of endings for me.

--

I'm pretty sure this one-off is basically incoherent to anyone but me and knitters.

The story is basically about a boy who finishes knitting what his girl designs, because he likes the mindless work and the end product, and she likes the process of creation and the magic of something new.  You can figure out the rest from there, I think.  Again, I played with the meaning of Endings and gave it two different senses that have to be deciphered from context.

But really, it's about something deeper than that.  It's about relationships, about how people balance each other out by playing to their strengths and minimizing weaknesses through collaboration.  It's about creative power, how some people are visionaries and others are happy to work their magic for them.  It's about death, and the hole that's left in someone's absence.