“I’m not crazy!” Violet snapped. She wasn’t sure this was true, but she was only ten.
“Who else sees words in smells and colors, Violet?” her brother said.
Violet didn’t reply. She’d heard music from the next room: familiar scents of syrup and fresh earth filled her nostrils.
“Pancakes and grass,” she mumbled.
The lyrics were yellow, black, and lavender to Violet.
“Can you smell that?” she asked.
“I smell that you’re crazy.”
Leaning back against the couch, Violet closed her eyes. She let the scents and colors kaleidoscope in her mind.
This opulent synesthetic world was hers alone to enjoy.