Mae buys yellow roses for every vase in the house.

Mae’s wife loves yellow roses. In fact, she loves the color yellow in all forms. The sweet scent of honeysuckle blesses her with a yellow glow from strolling through the woods. Mae’s wife talks to herself in the woods. Soon, she’ll talk to herself in the house, too. Every morning she swallows a spoonful of honey. “It’s good for you,” she insists, then giggles like a little girl. Mae buys yellow roses for every vase in the house. Yellow petals fall on pill bottles lined up like a parade. “Flowers are a gift to the home,” Mae says, and paints over the spots in the walls, and puts down rugs to hide the knots in the wooden floors. The smell of roses hugs the home year-round and when yellow flames eat Mae’s wife’s mind, her lover merely laughs and says, “This is how it’s meant to be.”

Did you enjoy this story? Subscribe to our weekly newsletter to find out when new stories are published.

Learn how to join our Writers Cohort here.

Follow us:

Join Us

My Umbrella Writers Cohort

Related Posts


grudges are too hard to hold with these small hands 


She used to drink me dry, now there’s only a drip left.