The Masked Stranger

Boys did technical drawing and girls did needlework. In my day, that’s how it was, end of. I sketched out a pattern, though, to make life easier. Father never allowed me out after dark, but the moon was bright when I hung them in the tree. It felt exciting, illicit. I can spot them, easy as anything, when I pass people in the street. Those fabrics are all the rage these days. Vintage, they call them. They were my dresses, when I was a girl. I quite enjoyed cutting them up. That’s the beauty of not throwing anything away, you never know what might come in handy.

The town’s changed since I last saw it. They say it’s strangely quiet, but it feels busy to me. I see my creations everywhere, keeping people safe. They wonder who’s making them.

I hide behind mine and no one can see me smiling.

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