He knew, although he would never admit it, that everyone knew he was a liar. At first, upon meeting him, people are charmed by his stories finding them incredulous yet inviting. He was lonely so he tried his best to create (fabricate) stories.

Tonight, though, he felt the tide turn a little. It was as if people were starting to believe him less than they did before. He said goodbye to everyone and finished the wine bottle. He needed to steel himself. He went downstairs and put the lights on.

Sure enough the yarn was fraying and the loom was working harder. It had been a “gift” passed down from one family member to another. It was the only way he could survive. Stories were his thing that kept him sane. The yarn had to keep going.