By Hayley Chewins
Madd is ten when he hears the world stop turning, standing in his red gumboots in the center of Wednesday’s busiest slum. No one else seems to notice the chickens walking in neat circles, the trees bent in still air, the rain pouring down from a bright, cloudless sky.
But he does.
His mother comes home most evenings. Makes dinner and strokes his head. Afterwards, he is allowed to sit for a while on the roof of the shack, watching stars circling.