Thursday, March 27, 2008

Prompt: Mark


"Honey, there’s something on your cheek." She touches my face with her lovely, slender fingers.

"Huh, it’s not coming off."

Chills. Already?

"What’s wrong?"

"I have to use the bathroom." Lock the door, peer into the mirror. I recognize the Mark from my only photo of Dad. I’d hoped it was a family myth, but no.

I know I can’t pass this on.


The other mourners avoid me. There’d was no note, but I think everyone thinks I know why he did it.

I touch my belly. At least there’s someone. I wish I’d had the chance to tell him.

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