ORIGINS: Do you see the starry night of the seventh character in the original series? We connected the dots, and the resulting constellation showed just that. A lady with a mink on her head and a barrel full of fish in her hands.
If my hair were a river of flowing memories, you, my mink, would be my shore. My safeguard. My reminder. Shiny things are my weakness. I can’t resist the lure of those fish with their metallic scales. I taste blood. I need to feel alive. And that sparkling river promises to deliver all the happiness, the pain, the anger and the fear I will ever need. That river murmurs in my ear that I have already fed it more than enough fish. And if it weren’t for you, my mink, I would drown in those memories. But you remind me that there is a life waiting for me out there. A dull, uninspiring life that can’t compare to my treasured memories. But a life nonetheless.
Those words never came out of my mouth. I would never describe my soul as a bird, that is not the way I see myself. I am a voice. Not even the wind, I am just something as unobtrusive as air. You, my mink, are the memories that make up this landscape. This body we share has already lived its happiest years. Why would I wish to steal any fish from you? I would starve myself before I let your stomach growl even once. You and I both know that this body could live out its days in silence, but you are what keeps it upright. You are the landscape that holds up the few smiles it has left. If I could, I would fill all your rivers with fish. But my tears ran out of fish a long time ago.
I believe in magic, because I could wield it once. When I was a child, I could make even dead fish shine brighter than the sun. I could find beauty everywhere I looked. But then I grew up, and the magic dried up. My world grew bigger, more desolate. Comparisons are inevitable, and most things just didn’t measure up. One day, I just found myself with a barrel full of dead fish, and not a sparkle in sight. I wanted to cry. But I knew that a few tears wouldn’t bring the magic back. And that is when the Mink spoke to me for the first time. He thanked me for the fish, and told me that if he could, he would catch a star for me. Because I deserved one for my generosity.
The barrel is empty, there are no more fish left. The Mink ate them all. He told me that I couldn’t miss something I had never had. So, he picked my bones clean. No more flesh for me, no more skin that remembered what warmth felt like. The Mink took it upon himself to put an end to my loneliness. I am to be a star. The Mink has thrown what’s left of me into space. Into that cold, dark place, that soon will become my new flesh and my new skin. My home and my happiness.
Sometimes I wish my memory were a cat instead of a mink. I wish I had a cat that left dead birds on my doorstep, out of love. But I have a mink, and it only brings me dead fish. My mink isn’t picky, it will eat anything. He doesn’t love me, but neither does he hate me. He just catches fish. That’s what he does. He doesn’t discriminate. But I do. If I could, I would throw all these ugly memories, all these meaningless and hurtful fish back into the sea where they came from. But they are already dead. They have already started to rot inside me. And I am afraid that they will always find their way back to me.
I feel divided. A part of me needs barrelfuls of fish to keep its mink well fed, and doesn’t care if it ends up depleting the sea. The other part would prefer a handful of stars. It knows that they are out of reach, but it is still holding out hope that one night they will simply fall into its hands. And I don’t know what to do. I want to be happy. But I can’t help feeling that if I chose those fish I would be settling for less, and if I chose those stars I would spend my life dreaming of more. Either way, I would still be hungry.
One. Two. Three. Four. I. Love. You. More. That’s the sound my heart makes when it beats. But you don’t love me anymore, and I don’t want my heart to keep beating for a myriad of old memories. It’s bad enough that I have become a night sky brimming with dead light. I will have to live with the memories and the tears, but I refuse to keep those words in my heart. I don’t care what my mink says. Those fish are going back into the sea. I will empty my barrel, and try to take solace in the silence. While it lasts. Because I am sure that it won’t be long before my hungry mink fills it back with fish.
Don’t be sad. There may not be any stars left in the night sky, there may not even be any fish left in the sea, but there are still a few scales left at the bottom of this barrel. I am sure that we will be able to replicate one or two constellations. They won’t shine, they won’t even twinkle, but at least we will know that they are there. I know that you are hungry, my mink, and I apologize for spoiling you. I apologize for every barrelful of fish I fed you. But you used to be a good hunter. There was a time when you didn’t need my help, and I am sure that soon enough you won’t need light to help you regain your hope.