Over the sunny hills of crystal, Madra lived and numbered his days. Though accused of psychosis and a bit of an over exacting kind of bastard, he nonetheless walked with the creative kiss of the maker. That even his blood lines never mind the parish presumed his creative touch to be devil-drawn. Superstition poisoned his solitary life, since every act of genius was taken as further proof of his league with evil.

Ironic that in the parched land, where irrigation was so crucial to the people’s survival, only Madra’s sunny dance (as he called it ever since he could speak) would bring the rains. Without fail. Always.

As a young boy, nicknamed ‘madra’ for his calming effect on dogs, the lad was one of hundreds of hungry inside/hungry outside children semi-forgotten by the transition period inhabitants that the last environmental and emotional epoch left on earth. As a pup himself, the games in the school yard were many, but the one that stirred things up (and marked the beginning of Madra’s fateful solitariness), was the one for throwing out some moves of a 4 (or 5, or 6, or 7, 8, 9, 10) year old, proclaiming it this or that (dancer’s choice as to naming it) dance. Each child who played would repeat the exercise in their own way. Madra would not so incredibly take his turn as well. The first time he stepped in and bounced his “sunny dance” to the children, the yard darkened.

Incredible as the phenomenon was, no senior beings on the educational compound seemed to take much notice. When it failed to cease after a few seconds, even the old depressed school wardens left their mundane coffee to see what was afoot in the yard.

The land had dried up many upon many decades back. But still the people were phased with a kind of soul-disorientation. Madra had always had particular ways of being (some even sneered ‘peculiar’ ways of being) …

That was all that was writ in the allotted time (10 minutes)

On a day at the Writing Group when we each contributed a single word, and then attempted to use as many of the aforementioned in a piece of writing, this was the stuff that emerged from yours truly.

The words were:

incredible … … creative … … bastard … …. kiss … … mundane … exact …. … superstition … ….. coffee … ….. psychosis …. … crystal … ….. sunny … ….. madra* … …dance

*Madra being the Irish for Dog

Like what you read? Give Peneleapaí a round of applause.

From a quick cheer to a standing ovation, clap to show how much you enjoyed this story.