Ross could not believe he’d given into Sophie’s demand they forego their dream vacation in Acapulco to go on a backpacking tour of the remote native villages instead. He knew when he’d hooked up with her she was a bit…unconventional but this was almost enough to make him reconsider whether they had a future together at all.
She babbled on and on about the mystic earth magic to be found only in the isolated backwaters of Mexico; magic that was older than recorded history and capable of producing inconceivable wonders.
Watching the peasant man weave his simple, albeit colorful, cloth he snickered at the idea of such an impoverished soul having any mystical powers, never noticing the rainbow forming in the sky behind him matched the same exact hues as the villager wove into the fabric.
This story was written for the weekly Five Sentence Fiction flash fiction prompt: fabric.