Let the Madness Begin
And may it never end.
How boring it would be
Without Madness to send
Around the next bend,
Straight into and through my head.
Magdalene danced too closely to the weeds and instead of dancing away, fell head first into them. He came upon her struggling, flailing, shrieking, and cursing the weeds. And he tried, honestly tried, to check his temper even when she shouted most unkindly at the vegetation.
“She’s invading their space,” Quentin thought, “not the other way ‘round.”
He offered her a hand, but she never heard nor saw him. Too busy having a tizzy, I presume. Quentin shook his head in disgust and had decided to leave her in this muddy, tangled state, when she struck out blindly at an innocent dandelion. That wasn’t the last straw though, oh no. The last straw was when she yanked the sweet, puffy dandy-lion straight out of the ground. For no reason, none what-so-ever.
Now she merely sits at the side of the road, bundled up tightly with all the other weeds. She’s one of them, though she’d never admit it and couldn’t even if she wanted to. Her roots run deep in the earth and do not allow for dancing. Desperately she tries to hum a tune, but alas and alack she no longer has a mouth.