"Between the lines of certain old maps, the scent of that flower lingers."
Her name was Carmen de Luna, a professor in the botany department. She recalled her trip up the Amazon, the heat and mosquitoes, a mansion in the jungle hidden by vines and white flowers. There was a jaguar sleeping on the sofa in the living room, a carpet covered with butterflies.
Later, I looked for the map in the college library, but I became lost in a labyrinth of numbers.
I thought I heard the rumbling of a jaguar.
I thought I could smell her elusive perfume.
Author bio: Voima Oy lives on the western rim of Chicago, near the expressway and the Blue Line trains. Her writing can be found online at VERStype, Paragraph Planet, 101 Fiction, Unbroken Journal, Vignette Review, Molotov Cocktail--Flash Worlds, Burning House Press, and The Cabinet of Heed.
Follow her on Twitter, too— @voimaoy and #vss365.
Perfume is part of 101 Fiction issue 22.