The Napkin

By Devika Hardikar

It was the very presence of the white napkin that brought with it comfort. It was meant to provide protection yet not in the manner most would think. It wasn’t meant to serve as a barrier between the shaving cream and skin. Instead it was meant to serve as insurance. 

Insurance that Harold, the man currently shaving Edison’s face, wouldn't try anything. After all, the napkin was a witness. Edison gripped the smooth cloth that wrapped itself snugly around his neck, watching as Harold glided his rusty razor around the contours of his cheeks being extra careful to not nick any spots. He knew that the napkin was watching. He knew that if any drops of crimson were to flower, the napkin would surely document it.

By Devika Hardikar