Queen Persephone

She has long red hair to her waist and she lives in a yellow house with the paint peeling off like the sunburn on her shoulders. Her hair is creased from a recent braid, undone, and it lies beside her on the grass so that her back is exposed to the afternoon sun.

- Heather Whited

She has been lying there for so long that when she moves, her silhouette is pressed in green on the ground under her, an extra shadow, one that cannot follow her.

At first he is hard to see because the sun is so bright, but then he’s there—brown hair, pale skin, and glasses. She squints, and he becomes more solid, a young man at her garden gate. He’s not wearing any shoes.

“May I come in?” he asks.  

“No,” she says after thinking about it. She picks some grass from her hair. “I don’t think so.”