Fawns and Lady Bugs

All the year-long disaster drills started yesterday afternoon, and she was balancing lady bugs on the tips of her fingers, waiting for them to realize that, disaster or not, we would all die someday anyway. She surrounded herself with the snow in the morning, the sand in the afternoon, and the starry sky by night, so that she could see the best and worst of everything in every city in every light at every time of day. The natives of the planet asked her for tutorials about the culture of her extinct race. She forgot where she was born and let herself slide off into the shadows before they realized she was gone. 

Different from the rest, better than the best, she withstood every test with the delicacy of a bulldozer and moved across the freeway traffic like a laughing little fawn. All the obstacles were challengers, bowing to her like the start of a fencing match, holding up their lethal swords and dangling poison next to her ear. She could hear the shot guns a thousand miles behind her, but she never turned around to see if she had any competition at all. She danced with the Gods of another time, letting Aphrodite fawn upon her and Mars bow gracefully before her feet; she didn't know who they were, but she carelessly caressed each of their faces and kissed them like all of the frantic fables they faithfully spun were true. She loved letting them think the best of themselves. 

She thought the best of herself all the time. 

She was lovelier than the sunflower fields of Tuscany, and she told herself that before she fell asleep under the falling rain every night.