The one of the head of my sister.

It was a total tragedy. My sister dies at fifteen in a train accident, all messed up. Except her head. While mourning for her, my family members start hearing rumors about her being miraculous. The rumors become a cult. The thing is, my sister’s head was invulnerable. Her head wasn’t damaged at all in the train wreck, and even dead, her head wasn’t decomposing.

People started coming to see it by themselves. It was true. Her head was pristine, but for us, for me, it was still my older sister. The cult became a part of the church. They built some temple for her head where people could go to see her. I remember the altar. It was all made of crystal, sometimes they put flowers there, giving it some color. Her head was inside a crystal cube, and they put her a crown, like a quinceañera (this is similar to a humble crown in those female beauty contests). To get to her head, people had to climb like a hundred crystal steps, curved, not straight.

My sister’s head wasn’t neither alive. The head didn’t age but also wouldn’t talk. Her eyes were always shut, but you could see her face, her mouth displaying different recognizable expressions, like a shy smile or some concern. She looked beautiful.

Probably the invasion of our civilization by an army of some rock-like anthropomorphic civilization. They were intelligent and very hard to hurt. Even if I dreamed them as a child, I still remember their faces and big heads with those cat eyes. They were never alone and sized like robust basketball players.

Delonix regia, the original flamboyant.