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True Colours Royal rolled over and still couldn’t find sleep. It was too crowded here, on the inside. He’d been warned, so why hadn’t he listened? Johnny Chartreuse had talked to him like a Dutch uncle. Johnny had more insight than most, understood the warmy mindset. “You seen their circus colours? Buncha clowns.” Johnny spat. “But warmies stick together, kid. A warmy wants to meet with a cool, he don’t have no truce in mind. You stay home with Periwinkle.” Yet, Royal had kissed Periwinkle goodbye, gone to the park anyway. Because Pinkie had invited him, Pinkie from the old neighbourhood, before relations between their families frayed. Maybe he and Pinkie could bring everybody together. Mend things once and for all. It had been a gorgeous day. Clouds like ribbons in an azure sky. And sure, he’d been surprised to see Pinkie wasn’t alone, brought his warmy buddies. Even Rusty was there. Royal thought, I didn’t think anybody liked that guy. Rusty’s unspooled. But everybody’d been friendly enough. The pyramid had been fun, with Pinkie and the others stacked on Royal’s steady shoulders. Until somebody above shifted and Rusty tumbled into the pond. By the time Officer Brick arrived, Rusty had sunk. And then the warmies fingered Royal, said he’d jostled everybody. The whole thing had been one big, lousy setup. That rat, Pinkie. So they’d framed him up neat, and now here he was inside Sew-Sew, crammed in the basket next to Big Yarn. That guy will talk your ear off. But one day Royal would get out. And when he did, he was going to pay Pinkie a little visit, maybe bring Sammy Needles with him. Then they’d see who was cool. Tracy Royce Tracy Royce’s works have appeared in The Mackinaw, MacQueen’s Quinterly, and ONE ART. Her work has been nominated for Best Small Fictions and a Pushcart Prize, and was selected for Best Microfiction (2026). She lives in Southern California, where she enjoys hiking and watching Richard Widmark films. Find her on Bluesky.
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August 2026
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