The God of String by Carl James Grindley

I am a small God with teeny weenie hands and teeny weenie feets. I live in crammed and disordered drawers and under sinks. I am The God of Tangley String Balls and Impossible Knots.

Once upon a time, I had power, but today I do not.

So, you say, you are the God of Snarled Rigging. No, not true, I would reply (you can’t actually hear me speak because my voice is so faint). The God of Snarled Rigging does not exist. If your rigging becomes fouled, it is your doing, and you should take better care. Better still, you should buy a ship with oars and a belly full of slaves.

So, you say, you are the God of those sorts of cords that are used to secure heavy loads. You are the God who prematurely ages those cords and causes them to fray or their buckles to break. Again, not so. I am sorry, such a God does not exist, and I have nothing to do with tie down straps. I am The God of String and Knots Made With String. I am not, however, The God of Sheepshanks or one of the Gods of other such knots. Those Gods are allied with The Powerful Gods of the Sea, The Gods of Sailors, The Gods of the Deep, and The Gods of Whales. Neither am I The God of Thread. The God of Thread is a pointed and sharp God, with impossibly thin fingers and an incessant voice. He is an old God and has been around since the days of bone needles threaded with gut. His daughter is The Goddess of Embroidery, and She has little time for me.

To summon me, you must purchase some nice white string and cut it into little pieces. Put the pieces into a kitchen drawer and forget about them for a long time. Sooner or later, I will come and join the pieces together into a string ball. The better you perform the ritual, the larger the string ball will be. My worshippers live mainly in the forgotten land across the great sea. They build mighty monuments to my name, travel great distances to see my shrines, and, in my own small way, I am well pleased.

So, you really are The Meek God of String, you say. How has this come to be?

Well, once upon a time, I had power, but today I do not.

I was once The God of Thwarted Ambition. I lived in a far away city, for the most part residing in a giant tangled knot in the center of town. One day a great man came to the city, and that was that for me.

© 2011 Carl James Grindley

Carl James Grindley grew up on an island off the West Coast of Canada, and studied in the US and Europe. He has taught creative writing at Yale University, and works at The City University of New York. Three of his novellas were published in 2008 by No Record Press under the name Icon. He has recent work in A Bad Penny Review, Eunoia Review, Anastomoo and Atticus Review. The author would like to thank The City University of New York’s Research Foundation for its generous support.

Comments are closed.