“I think I have never really had time to notice the beauty, ” she thought, looking up, “but now…finally I can. Properly. That architect must have been insane – in a beautiful way, of course. Just like me. That’ s what they all said and wanted me to believe at least. “Different” was the word they used politely but I heard also “Cuckoo” and “Mad cow” whispered behind my back. What is so wrong with being different? Why mad? Because I always thought I could fly?! But I was right, wasn’t I?”
The pool of blood kept drawing surreal shapes around her head, on the street…
Image courtesy of Kent Bonham
Friday Fictioneers – 100 word stories