Aurora 2024

Sara Allard

one, complete with tacky kissy lips and worn-off eyes. Not exactly espionage material, but a lady’s gotta work with what she’s got. All the pieces are finally in place at 2:00 AM, the best hour for keepin’ secrets. I trek back down to that ditch and try to tune out my screamin’ hips by sayin’ “no black vans, no white coats.” These mantras help me persevere back toward the scene of the crime. Toward that pinless grenade that could destroy everything I’ve worked for. Which is why I about collapse like a barn in a tornado when I realize I’m not alone. There in that ditch is Layla, kneelin’ so close to the rouge flower that it looks like she’s whisperin’ it a secret. Although she and her pathetic scooter should’ve puttered off somewhere else, she’s still here, cakin’ our new work uniforms in the spring’ mud. “Young lady! What are you doin’ out so late?,” I demand. Layla has her head so far up in the clouds, that she doesn’t even startle at her 70 year boss poppin’ in at 2:00 AM. Instead, she jumps up, rattles my shoulders, and squeals like a tween at a boy band concert: “Look Mrs. A, can you believe it?” Layla jabbers,” This is the first wild dandelion I’ve — no anyone my age has seen in their life! Imagine how many more we’ll have once this one goes to seed! People have to know about this! We should call —” —I decide right then that everything I’ve said to this girl has ever sunk in, and my mission to forge her in my image is well and truly dead. “ENOUGH! I would like to

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