By Madison Randolph

We sat together staring at a painting. The image was simple—a red balloon on a white canvas. Hardly art. 

“This blue balloon really speaks to me,” he said. 

I stay silent, the gears in my head turning. 

“It’s red?” 

He scoffed, “It’s blue.” 

I looked quizzingly at him, his eyes still fixed on the painting. 

“Honey, it’s red.” I laughed a little. 

“No.” He turned, his eyes flashing. “It’s blue.” 


“You can’t disregard what I’m seeing and tell me I’m wrong.”

I look down at his hands, clenched into knuckles on his thighs. 

“It’s blue,” I whispered, looking away. He was giving me the gift of clarity. 

                                                           *   *   *

Madison Randolph is attending University of Texas Permian Basin to earn her Master’s in English. Her works have appeared in Friday Flash Fiction, The Drabble, and The Chamber Magazine. She has also been published in 101 Words as Ryker Hayes. She can be found on Twitter @Madisonr1713 or Instagram madisonrandolph17

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