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Copyright © 1997 Christine Goody.
All rights reserved and reproduction without written permission expressly prohibited.
The Fabric of Life
Mary watched the white flower slowly grow beneath her fingers. Each silken stitch
upon the white linen carefully placed and studied before she moved onto
the next.
"Let me see", snapped Grandma.
Her grandmother, who looked like a sweet little old lady, was sitting a few feet
away, in the shadows. An array of colourful threads surrounded her
untidily, making the small room look cluttered.
Mary glanced up at her grandmother and as she did so the needle pierced
her finger. She looked down in dismay and watched the red bubble grow on her
skin. She quickly out it into her mouth to stop the blood spilling
on her work.
"Come along, girl. I haven't got all day."
She walked, her left foot dragging, across the room to give her work to
her grandmother.
"What do you call this? How do you expect to breathe life into your work without
colour?"
"I - I like it," said Mary.
"I - I like it," Grandma mimmicked, then threw the embroidery back at her.
"White on white, you can hardly see it. You have the gift but you have
to use colours."
[End of this extract. The full story was published in Gravity's Angels]
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