Colourful gunfire shot into the sky, hanging artificial stars in the atmosphere. The night sounded like a war zone, and the little fairies danced to the beat. With random swishes a rainbow exploded in triumph. The smell of brown soil was taken over by the smoke of the colourful bombs. She sat in the damp grass and her neck cramped from looking up. Her palms were cold and dirty, and her teeth clattered. She was making her own mist with her breath.

The girl laid exhausted in the grass, while the sky went fully black. The entire day she was digging. The soil softly broke under her shovel while she dug neat little holes. She dug obsessively, and single handily dug a whole garden in the span of two days. A flower for every person who ever doubted her. The flowers looked like fireworks themselves. Little colour splotches of tones in the green base.

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She looked at her broken phone regretfully, as she wished she could’ve recorded them. For later, for her poems. She loved the chaos of fireworks. Their energy. Their violence. She found them so poetic. That such beautiful sights could be so dangerous. People underestimate the multicoloured flames, as they could kill all of them with one single mistake.

A cool gust of wind played with her hair, and it brought her back to the situation at hand. She got up and looked at her little garden of vengeance. Everyone always admires what is above the soil. But she also admires whats under it. The way the roots grow and tangle, giving plants life. And the body of a person who doubted her. That underestimated her.