The Carpet

When she reached the entrance, Siobhan took off her ballet flats and tucked them into the cubbies that were provided. Hundred of hands – thousands of finger – had knotted the carpet that covered the mosque’s floor. 

It wasn’t to be subjected to the worn soles of a traveler’s shoes. A carpet was designed to be talked on, to be durable, but this one was too delicate. Too intricate. Too fine to do its job. 

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