Confusion Itself By Peri Gordon, 11

It was Wednesday at 9am, I think, and I was sipping my coffee and walking to work when I saw her. Well, first I heard her shouting, and then I looked over, and then I saw the top of her purple stack of hair. I took the time to follow the fluffy pile down to the bottom, and I found a face died green with violet eyes and lips made to be the color of the ocean. Her eyes were wild and gleaming with both happy and sad tears, and her mouth was constantly moving as she ceaselessly talked about some problem that had befallen her. She was so out of place in the quiet atmosphere of this quiet little town that no one could ignore her. It was hard to look away from her face, but I had to see what this woman was wearing. My eyes are still angry at me for exposing them to such a bright, chaotic assortment of skirts and pants and shirts and dresses layered on top of one another, orange and green and blue and pink, spotted and striped and beaded and bejeweled. She wasn’t wearing one outfit; she was wearing three. A growing crowd clustered around her and went where she went, and she was pacing around the square, shaking her fists and head, and making descriptive gestures with her hands. She would beckon more people over, and if they refused she would snap at them continuously until they obeyed. Then she would move on seamlessly as if nothing had happened, and anyone who interrupted was rewarded with a scowl. I was probably the fortieth person to join the crowd that day, and I didn’t care that I was missing work because my boss and all my coworkers were too. Everyone was too confused to do anything but gawk at her, and everyone was too excited, because she was so extreme in so many ways. She was confusion itself, and she was a cause for confusion.