Sweet brown sugar and buttery cinnamon swirled through the air, entangling itself with the waxy mist of a “fresh rain over a newly mowed lawn” candle. Zy’hed watched as the candle flickered and danced on its wick as if it was a maypole.
Inside his room, Zy felt secure, confident. From within the tightened bubblegum pink dress, he stared out his window from apartment 4G and watched as some of his classmates threw a bright orange rubber ball through roped buckets. Basketball was a past time Zy had zero interest in, ever since he was younger, and now, at the age of ten, Zy chose to play dress up alone in his room where he could sashay and shontay over a brightly lit catwalk surrounded by people from his fantasies, from the books he loved to escape into, from the movies he devoured a hundred times over--away from the sneers of neighborhood boys and the hateful eyes of his parents.
Inside his room, Zy felt secure, confident. From within the tightened bubblegum pink dress, he stared out his window from apartment 4G and watched as some of his classmates threw a bright orange rubber ball through roped buckets. Basketball was a past time Zy had zero interest in, ever since he was younger, and now, at the age of ten, Zy chose to play dress up alone in his room where he could sashay and shontay over a brightly lit catwalk surrounded by people from his fantasies, from the books he loved to escape into, from the movies he devoured a hundred times over--away from the sneers of neighborhood boys and the hateful eyes of his parents.