DAISY
The outline of dark figures walked with heads held high and umbrellas in hand as
they crossed the spindly bridge that looked like a sidewalk on stilts.
Ancestors, a voice whispered in Daisy’s mind. These are my ancestors. The girl shook
her head and glanced back in the direction from where she’d just turned away.
The parade continued. Women in wide-brimmed hats fell in line with men in chaps and
coattails. She couldn’t see their faces, only shadowed paper doll images, dark blue
and eggplant purple.
These are my people, the voice whispered.
The voice sounded like her own, but she couldn’t figure out what was meant by “ancestors”
and “my people.” She squeezed her eyes closed one more time, then opened them to
see that the shadows had sprouted wings and were making their way
