The Wistful Petal

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2026-08-21 15:53:54 -

The Wistful Petal

The rain did not fall. It hung. Mara stood on the corner of 4th and Main. The streetlights buzzed. A low, electric hum. It vibrated in her teeth. In her bones. The sky was the color of wet slate. Grey. Heavy. It pressed down on the city. On the glass. On the brick. She looked up. There it was. The flower. It floated above the intersection. Ten feet up. Suspended in the air. A single rose. Red....

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