Buried Under Spot 23

John Knox Buried Under Spot 23
Flash Fiction By: Christina Banks

The dark spires of St. Giles stood etched on the gray Edinburgh sky as our mission team walked toward the ornate Cathedral. Already we had been in the United Kingdom for almost two weeks, ministering in England and now Scotland. This was our first “free” day without any services or ministry commitments. Still, my hands were full of tracts as we shouldered our way through the throng of people, most of whom we could not understand because of their heavy brogue.

Tourist shops lined the street selling tartan plaids, bag pipes, picture postcards, and souvenir badges. A couple of the girls from my group stopped to inspect a stand of woollen shawls. My eyes lingered on a woman in her late twenties with two children in tow.

“Excuse me Ma’am,” I said, “could I give you this?” I handed out a tract.