The Mark on the Cloth
The mark was more innocent than if on a bed-sheet or on some under-clothes or, even, on a bath-towel. So, Belinda studied the table-cloth, annoyed that her customary meticulous housewifery had gone so amiss, yet it didn’t even look like food, not a rogue splattering from a soup spoon nor a freak misalignment between cup and lip...
She applied her nose to where the weave wore this wennish stain, a dry island of corrupt seepage that no geographer could surely recognise – yet possibly a mythic land since the mark’s aroma was spicy and sickly-sweet by turns, fast conjuring visions of High Dark Fantasy where even fabulous beasts did smell.
With a sniff of lofty-minded disdain, Belinda dropped the table-cloth into the automatic washer, a machine, sadly, with no programme available for Dragon’s Breath.
First published 'Scar Tissue' (associated with the 'Dragon's Breath' newsletter) 1996
