Flash Fiction: The Lost Scarf
A story in 300 words.
The Lost Scarf
The maroon door was as worn as I remembered, paint flaking and the knocker dull. The young man answered quickly. To my surprise, his ready smile was absent. Dark circles lurked under eyes that were swollen and red.
“Hi, I was here just the other day…”
He nodded “I remember you.” He seemed to have difficulty swallowing. “Thank you for the bible.”
“You’re welcome! Just doing my job. Listen, I think I left my scarf here.”
The young man stared at the ground.
It’s lilac,” I prompted. “Made of lambswool.”
At the mention of the colour, a strange look came over his face. He hesitated for a moment. “You’d better come in.”
On the last visit, my sales pitch had been disturbed by the incessant cries of a newborn baby. This time the room was still and peaceful. The young man’s wife sat by the cosy fire, bent over a swaddled bundle that lay on her lap.
“Good morning!” I greeted her. “I do hope you’re well. I think I left my scarf here. It’s lilac. An unusual colour for a man, I know, but my wife…”
The rest of my sentence vanished as the young woman looked up. Her eyes were hollow voids, ringed in red.
She gripped the tiny, lilac bundle as if she would never let it go.
By the time I arrived home, I had my story ready.
“Darling, I donated it.”
“Donated!”
“Yes my love. Oh, you know how I cherished your gift. But Mary, the family I visited was desperately in need. They didn’t even have swaddling for the baby.”
“Oh Derek!” The melting look in her eyes told me everything.
I knew she was imagining how adorable a baby would look wrapped in that soft lambswool.
I let her keep the unpolluted image.