by Slawka G. Scarso

Camouflaged on the flattened grass, among the clashing beauty of a multicoloured flowered field, we went unnoticed for twelve hours, until they came in dozens—officers, dogs, or simple volunteers who could not want to wait, hands on their laps in front of the television screens. As they combed the fields, only the sound of the brushing wind breaking the silence as the eyes did not want to miss a thing, and the lips feared distraction, a lady noticed us, scattered on the flattened grass, the sun drawing lymph from our cut stalks. 

‘There’s something here,’ the lady said, her voice but a whisper at first, and then urgent, loud. We waited there, on the soil, until a gloved hand picked us, the only flowers different from any other in the field, and inspected us, and among our petals of yellow and white, picked a strand of auburn hair. 


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