ORIGIN: The Brush gave us an alien and this is what we got when we dissected it.
I wish I could reach into my heart, but I am just an alien without a flying saucer. I hate playing dress-up. I am drowning in this white shirt. I can’t breathe. It reminds me of the darkness of space. The same breathlessness. Nostalgia isn’t the word I am looking for because I don’t want to go back home. If I could, I would already have severed all ties with that place where others had a say in my life. I hate this shirt, but I have to grow up. Even if it means giving up my heart. Shirts have breast pockets for a reason. I will reach for a pencil. Graphite is soft. It has to hurt less than the darkness I know. I will write my own star. But I will have to come up with a better name for it. Because home is where the heart is.
I didn’t pick this bowtie. It’s a remnant of a bygone era, when somebody else used to dress me up. It was a sweet first impression. A candy wrapped tight. I thought everything she gave me was a gift and I treated it like gold. Lungs have roots. Every day there were a myriad presents above the tree. She taught me every word I knew. But something didn’t feel right, a lump formed in my throat. I wanted to giftwrap a word of my own for her. That she may know me and love me like I loved her. But there must have been stars in my eyes. That wrinkled, lackluster candy wrapper went into the trash. Starlight dripped from my eyes. And I have been adrift in outer space ever since.
I don’t have definitive proof that I am an alien, but I feel certain that if you were to dissect me, you wouldn’t find any butterflies in my stomach. Never mind love, in all the years I have been on this earth, nobody has even piqued my curiosity. When I was young, I tried to fit in. I put a bowtie around my neck and answered every time others talked to me. Up and down went the apple in my throat. I thought that it would coax that reluctant, finicky butterfly into taking wing. But I never felt like starting a conversation with anyone. I thought that I would die a misfit. Stardust to stardust. But fortunately times change, and the cold distance where I feel right at home has spread down here too.
My heart has never made its presence known. It has never knocked on my door. I don’t have the best pair of lungs. I know what breathlessness is. That’s how you describe falling in love, isn’t it? Someone takes your breath away and that veiny butterfly flutters madly, wanting out of your chest. Into that familiar, alien world. Isn’t love like air in that respect? You see what you want to see. You memorize contours, maybe two or three words. But your love’s heart remains on the other side of the door. As uninterested in knocking as your own.
I grew up wearing my brother’s hand-me-downs. I have never played with throwaway toys. Children who bite on candies are alien to me. But I have heard that sugar can be found in some meteorites that fall on earth, and if one were to fall into my hands, I wouldn’t think twice about biting on it. Wishes have an expiration date. Childhood is gone in the blink of an eye. All too soon, my brother and I won’t live under the same roof anymore. My biggest fear is freezing to death in an alien world, and my wish would be to find myself before that time comes.
Alien: There are writing implements sticking out of this breast pocket.
Bear head: Don’t complain. It’s not a stake to the heart and you can survive having your eye poked out.
Alien: But I came here fleeing the stars. The fate they write.
Bear head: That pain sharp as a pencil?
Alien: Yes.
Bear head: Don’t worry. It’s just a stowaway memory. It will disembark from your heart soon enough.
Alien: That was my hope. But I’ve come to realize that exercising free will is akin to writing with a blunt pencil. I have already begun to skin my soul. Having to own my life is torture, and I can already tell that it will be the death of me.
Bear head: I see. A sharp axe is the greatest mercy an executioner can show. But that ship has sailed. You made your choice, and the blame is yours and only yours to carry now.
Little girl: Leave me alone. I wasn’t born to funnel the stars. What’s done is done. Streetlights outshine them, and I don’t want to spend my life making up for someone else’s mistakes.
Girl in the jacket: Who said anything about mistakes? Can’t you see that they are trying to cure your narrow-mindedness? There is only one heart in your chest and you only have two hands. If left to your own devices, you are bound to miss out on life. There’s a whole universe to embrace out there, and it would be a crime to let it go to waste.
Hedgehog: Wouldn’t it be better to invent a time machine? That way you could just take her place years in advance.
Bigheaded child: I don’t think I will ever get used to regrets. It’s like having a piece of my broken heart orbiting my head. I wish it would burn out of existence on reentry, but I know no one is listening. Not even the mice in the wall.
Girl in the jacket: Did no one teach you to look on the bright side? The moon is moving away from earth at a speed of about 3.8 centimeters a year.
Bigheaded child: I know what out of sight, out of mind means. I also know that there are no monsters under my bed. But darkness is endless possibilities. My badly mended heart will know that the moon is out there. With free rein to turn into a monster.
Alien: I have never stargazed on a bed of grass.
Girl on one shoulder: Neither have we.
Girl on the other: Someone installed rubber tiles in our playground. And the only reason those sharp stars haven’t already been childproofed is that they are out of reach.
Girl on one shoulder: We are lucky no one would pay for rocket fuel out of their own pocket for somebody else’s child.
Bear: I can’t breathe. Would you mind loosening this bowtie for me?
Girls on the shoulders: Do you know what a knot in the throat is?
Bear: It’s a strong emotion, isn’t it?
Girls on the shoulders: That’s right. But we don’t feel comfortable around sadness and fear. We are partial to love. But stomach acid is no place for butterflies.
Bear: I see.
Girls on the shoulders: We knew you would. Now be a good bear and go to sleep. First loves should follow the script and play out like a dream.
Starry wolf: There’s something I need to do before I turn to dust.
Rabbit: Do I even want to know?
Starry wolf: When my lower jaw detaches from my skull, my ghost will only have one task: replacing it with a crescent moon. I want one last bite, that tastes of everything I longed for in life.
Rabbit: Where does that leave me?
Starry wolf: Right where you are. Longing has nothing to do with flesh and blood. My mouth has only ever watered for that which I have built up in my head.
Alien: Something must have gotten lost in translation when I crash landed on this planet.
Rat in the sleeve: Are you sure? I am well versed in the universal language that is fear. It’s irrational. And you can believe me when I tell you that most things in life don’t make sense.
Alien: I heard someone unleash a dog by saying I love you.
Owl: I saw that episode too. And you are right. You missed a key word.
Rat in the sleeve: He did not. We all knew it was a lie and that dog would come back.
Alien: I see. The thought of using love to wage war never crossed my mind. But it’s not difficult to imagine the lengths people would go to. I myself prefer shooting stars. But maybe it’s just a matter of time before space ends up covered in the claw marks of single-minded rats.
Rabbit boy on the left: I wish there were three moons orbiting earth.
Rabbit boy on the right: I know. I’ve always wanted to make a snowrabbit.
Hedgehogs: Sorry to burst your bubble, but everybody knows how eclipses work. You wouldn’t be able to take credit for that snowrabbit.
Girls in raincoats: We are ready for the end of times. Let the downpour of stars begin.
Elephant: If memory doesn’t fail me, fire is passion. Love and hate. It doesn’t mesh with pity and regret.
Girls in raincoats: We know.
Elephant: It’s said that every scar tells a story. I believe that wrinkles are how we heal from the passing of time, and I have countless stories written in my skin. You don’t get to my age with passion still running through your veins. Most people give up somewhere along the way.
Girls in raincoats: We know.
Elephant: No, you don’t. You expect something from your writer other than indifference. You want to see a The End written in fury and tears. You want to be hated. Pitied. Forgiven. Envied. You want a connection. A trail of crumbs you can follow. But there will be no falling stars. Because there is no closure. Only unfinished stories.
Alien: If I were a star, I would envy the moon.
Shooting stars rabbits: We can see where you are coming from. If our diet consisted only of carrots, we would also grow sick and tired. But here’s the thing: the moon isn’t white, it’s graphite grey and no pencil drawing can be erased without a trace. Your joy would have an underlying taste of sadness, and it would spoil the harmony you are going for.
Rabbit with starry whiskers: How does it feel to swim in a sea of stars?
Swimming duck: It tickles.
Rabbit with starry whiskers: I don’t hear you laughing. Does that mean that it does nothing to take the sting out of all those wishes that never came true?
Bear: You are asking the wrong animal. Birds have no reason to wish upon the stars. What’s more, they winter somewhere warm.
Rabbit with starry whiskers: I don’t follow.
Bear: They lack empathy.
Rabbit with starry whiskers: But you have slept on the dark side of the moon?
Bear: No, but I have been hugged to death by little children that have burst into tears. And I can tell you that most hearts are blessed with a short attention span.
Girl behind one rabbit: Are you there?
Girl behind the other: I am.
Girl behind one rabbit: Is that your warmth I feel grazing my fingers?
Girl behind the other: I would like to think so, but I can’t be sure.
Girl behind one rabbit: …
Girl behind the other: That elephant promised that all the stars would go down the drain. No more dreams. No more unrealistic expectations. Just you and me.
Girl behind one rabbit: Then why is there still distance between us? I’m afraid. I don’t want my heart to grow fonder.
Girl behind the other: I know. I want to grow ugly with you too. All we have to do is clear this last hurdle.
Girl behind one rabbit: Do you promise?
Girl behind the other: … Yes.
Alien: I’ve heard of something called a stairway to heaven.
Hedgehogs: Let us guess: It gave you hope, didn’t it?
Alien: …
Hedgehogs: It did. Your spine looks like a ladder, and you must have thought that heaven lay in your brain.
Alien: …
Hedgehogs: Haven’t the stars ever sung you a lullaby? A cautionary tale? When we roll into a ball, we can hear the rush of blood in our ears, telling us that only hell can be created on earth. That’s why we leave well enough alone.
Deer head: My wish didn’t come true. Stars never once bloomed in my antlers.
Handstanders: You shouldn’t have been like a dog with a bone. Now it’s too late, you have already carried those regrets to your grave. And not even Death can help you part with them.
Deer head: Is there really no way to undo this damage? Archaeologists uncover bones every day. Surely all hope isn’t lost?
Handstanders: Do you know why we stand on our hands? It’s because there is no fun in trampling all over someone who’s already down, in the lowest level of hell.
Girl: Some call it loyalty, I call it a stomach that isn’t empty.
White rabbits: That’s just sad. If the Moon could cry, you would have already been torn to shreds at the bottom of a waterfall.
Black rabbit: I don’t think so. You forget that the Moon is, first and foremost, a heartbreaker. Idealists can be driven to madness, realists can’t. Just look at her face. The stars haven’t fallen from her eyes, they are falling from her sleeves, from that place where her heart used to be. I would say that the Moon’s well on her way to completing the job.