Dolores sat on the steps and slid her toes into the fine-grained, beige sand. The wind carried the delicious scent of barbecue, and the breeze was soothing against the skin. It was a beautiful day she wasn’t able to enjoy; the melancholy in her blood didn’t allow it. Instead, she focused on the flash of pink across from her.
The plastic birds nuzzled each other, much like lovers. Or, perhaps the birds were embracing each other the way friends do after they comfort each other? Both contexts were foreign to Dolores. She couldn’t decipher it no matter how long she stared.
What Dolores could decipher was the balance and grace the ornaments had. The balance she’d never have in her psyche, and the grace that skipped her in the family traits. Dolores didn’t have the beauty of a mysterious creature, whether the allure was real or artificial like the flamingos in front of her. They taunted her with their invisible social confidence, and mocked her obvious lack of femininity with their rosy shade.
Dolores miserably wiped tears from her face. Maybe she was the other type of flamingo. The type that stood awkwardly at an angle in a tacky yard.
Word count: 200