The Clown

There it was, a little off to the side, yellow with streaks of red, standing in its own patch of light. It didn’t need the garden anymore. The others were out there somewhere, fading back into the green, but the Clown was here — center stage, even if no one was looking.

The petals weren’t perfect, a little curled, a little worn at the edges. But there was something in the way it leaned toward the light, like it knew this was its moment, and it wasn’t about to waste it. No crowd, no clapping. Just the hush of the room, the soft spill of light, and a flower making the most of the time it had left.