Marisol’s Extra Marigold — Behind the velvet curtain, Marisol pinned marigolds into her crown until their peppery smell tickled her painted nose. Read the full story →
Behind the velvet curtain, Marisol pinned marigolds into her crown until their peppery smell tickled her painted nose. The dressing alcove hummed with distant trumpets, and her earrings clicked softly whenever she smiled at her own serious reflection. She had saved one extra blossom for no particular reason, tucking it beneath her collar where nobody would notice, not even the aunties who inspected symmetry like hawks in shawls.
A whisper rose from the empty chair beside her: “If that flower is unemployed, I know a hat that is tragically bare.” Marisol turned and saw only a sugar-dusted churro on a napkin, rolling uphill by itself. She placed the marigold on the churro’s invisible owner, who sneezed cinnamon and left three polite bite marks in the air. When the curtain lifted, Marisol’s crown was one flower short, her collar smelled brighter, and somewhere beside her, a tiny unseen gentleman bowed under a ridiculous orange hat.
