Orson’s Extra Button March — Every day, Orson polished the little brass button sewn inside his sash before leading the noon march past the awnings. Read the full story →
Every day, Orson polished the little brass button sewn inside his sash before leading the noon march past the awnings. It had fallen from his father’s coat years ago, and its dull click against the medal kept his steps properly ridiculous. Until one day the button popped free, pinged across the cobbles, and rolled under the town notice board just as the band struck up.
Because of that, Orson ducked, saluted a shrub, and discovered the board’s loose leg wobbling like a nervous jelly. Because of that, he wedged the button beneath it, then marched on hat-high while the kitten drummer rattled a cover for his mischief and the elephant’s trombone went bwaaap over everyone’s laughter. By dusk, no one knew why the notices stood straight again. Orson only missed the small secret weight at his side, and smiled at each properly ridiculous step.