The Hidden Details

Look at the fence post on the right, down where the wood meets the wild grass. There is a number carved into it. Two hundred and fifty years, and a mile marker on a road that keeps going.

Dark birds and white doves lift away from her, dozens of them. They are all ordinary birds. One is not. Look at the largest, the one closest to the umbrella. Wider wings than the rest. Feathers that layer like flame. A tail that streams instead of fans. That one is a phoenix, and it is out in front of all of them.

This stone is offered at $110. The towers stood 110 stories.

Count the candles: two, then five. Twenty-five years.

There is one more, hidden in the words of her story. That one is not given away — it belongs to whoever finds it.

Not named yet, and no story written. When there is one, it will be here.