Dinah was spinning and twirling and twisting in a fury of movement. She was everywhere. She was everything. She was ON.
Dinah danced like no one was watching.
Everyone was watching.
No one understood, but they were all watching. They couldn't hear the music in Dinah's head.
The 14-year-old swished the scarves in her hands so that they made a whirlwind around her as she gave herself up to her dance in the courtyard between the buildings of old town. Townspeople stopped their passage through town to stare, mesmerized. Workers in the surrounding buildings stopped working to look out their windows and doors at this girl.
She was a phenomenon.
Some had observed her before. Completely at random - no regular day, no regular time, no regular season - Dinah would suddenly appear, dancing in the courtyard to unheard music. No one noticed her arrive, and few saw her leave. Some whispered that she must be on drugs. There was no reason for the rumor, but even if true, no one cared.
Dinah's scarves swirled. Her body twirled, her head dipping low and high as her feet turned and stomped and tiptoed in the magic pattern of her mind. Faster and faster, higher and lower, until she collapsed to the ground, half covered by the colorful patterns on the scarves.
The locals in businesses turned back to their business.
Passersby who had stopped to watch applauded, waiting for her to rise and take a bow.
Dinah stayed on the ground, not hearing the crowd through the trance in her mind. After the crowd cleared and the sun was going down, she'd sit up, brush off the dirt from her hair and clothes, and look around as if trying to remember why she was there. Then, with a nod to herself, confirming what she already knew, she'd walk the path to her home in the next district.
Sometime - maybe soon, maybe not - she'd be back. When the muse called, Dinah answered.
It's FICTION FRIDAY!
Every Friday I write a new flash fiction piece. If you have a writing prompt you'd like to see turned into a story, just leave it in a comment.