5 Minute Freewrite Day 482: Magical Realism

I once dreamed about a certain town, filled with just humans. It was deep in a jungle, civilized up to a point, but with the strange perks of isolation. I was there, in a way, because my body couldn’t quite touch anything, but some people I saw and stalked.

It could be said that they and their life were simple, with their day to day activities a reflection of others commonly seen in other places of a more tangible reality, but they had their peculiarities. One family, the biggest and oldest one, had a lot of drama and absurd going on. I heard from a girl of them about incest, deformations, prophecies of doom and power delirium. I became entangled in those things, and whispers of a Ghost became common.

Years-dream passed between increasingly higher paranoia, and each and every little accident was blamed unto hidden guilt and foretold perdition. But the ambient seemed normal, they never overreacted, as if everything was supposed to be, except for one thing. As the family and the town thinned, each generation a new girl talked to me, only to be called crazy whenever she pointed at their sore spots. There was a reason for so many dust tornadoes, there was a reason for the drought and the weeks of redish rain, there was a reason for the pig’s tail in that newborn.

But all of that was foretold in the bitter words of a dying ancestor, it was supposed to happen and as such, the Ghost was evil, an intruder, and they would accept their end, because dead people can’t do otherwise. I awoke the next morning, with a feeling of realism that was something more, something that with and by them, was magical in its own way.