ORIGINS: It’s all there in the eyebrows of the fourth character in the original series. The clock towers and the long-necked birds that rise from them like smoke, laying the cards on the sky.
I grew up in a city where putting one’s cards on the table was frowned upon. I was allowed to have dreams while I was a child, but smoke wasn’t the only thing that city was full of. Everywhere I looked there were reminders that the clock was ticking, and soon I would have to grow up. I was encouraged to share my childish dreams, because nothing would come of them. Everybody understood that, unlike that smoke, dreams were always meant to fade away. To fly away, like long-necked birds. But I am lucky, because mine have never come back to haunt me. Their name hasn’t changed. I had dreams. Nothing came of them. But I have no regrets. Only cards I keep close to my chest. Because grown-ups are supposed to have ambitions, and I intend to win this game.
When I was a child I had a rich imagination. I lived in a grey city, covered in soot and disappointment, where hope died a little bit more with each tick of the clocks. But I was a child, and there were stars in my eyes. Something bright. Something warm. That didn’t let me see any of that. That city was an open grave. But I was a child, and I had more than enough stars in my eyes to bury all that ugliness. I didn’t know what hope was, but every time I caught a glimpse of my name, that word wasn’t far behind. I only know that I grew up in a sparkling sea, and I never imagined that one day it would spill from my smile. I thought that birds only went up. That they disappeared, like smoke. And looking back, that must have been when I started digging my own grave. Because I was happy, and I never learned to play the game. And by the time I grew up, and I saw a bird rot into the ground for the first time, it was already too late. All the other children had grown up knowing the rules, and they could play the game with a smile on their faces. But I can’t.
I was told to fight for what I want. I was born in a city where smoke covered the stars. Where birds represented hope. But I could never look past the dirt on their feet. It seemed to be telling me that I would fail, time and time again, without ever getting as close to the sky as I would like to get. And maybe that wasn’t the lesson this city meant to teach me, but it’s the one I learned. Because I know where fights end. In blood redder than any sunset, that soon turns into the darkest night. And if I believed that I would get to touch the stars, I would give my all. I would fight tooth and nail, until I was drenched in red. But this city is covered in dirt. It’s in the air. It’s on my skin. And I don’t see the point of fighting, if I won’t even get a glimpse of the stars. It’s easier to just grow up, without playing games. Without risking losing the few smiles that can be found in this city.
Love isn’t on the cards for me. But I don’t hold a grudge against this city. I can’t. Clocks tick and birds fly away. Nothing lasts forever. And I had to grow up some day. If I had been born a bird, I would be a long-necked one. I would long for love. I would try to stretch my childish forever as far as I could. Even if I had to beg. One minute here, one minute there, like I have seen so many other birds beg this city for its crumbs. But I wasn’t born a bird, and I no longer am a child. This city isn’t for fools. And I can’t give in to my heart’s demands. It’s better if I give up on the few seconds this city calls love. Breaking all the clocks to match my broken heart wouldn’t do me any good, and neither would watching this disappointing city go up in flames. Because I know that when the smoke cleared there would still be tears in my eyes, and I still wouldn’t find what I need in the ashes.
We are birds, we follow warmth. This city is not for us, its streetlights can’t compete with the sun we follow beyond the horizon. But don’t you worry child, we will be back. Lucky for you, the earth is round, like the face of a clock. We won’t be back for you. If your warmth were enough, we would have stayed by your side to begin with. But you will see us again. Because hope is a wonderful thing.
Our beaks aren’t long enough. Our necks aren’t long enough. This city keeps reminding us that life is too short. Don’t you hear those ticking clocks? Feeding the fire, making it grow. But it’s not enough! More. More. More. Higher! The night is sparkling with stars. Don’t you see them? This greedy city says that they are calling our name. And even if everything has to go up in flames, we must answer their call. Do you smell the smoke? Our necks are growing longer by the minute, and so too are our beaks. Soon, very soon, we will feed. And our life will finally mean something.
You may think that you have won, that your city is the greatest under the sun, and we are just a bunch of harmless birds. And you may be right. Our beaks can’t compare with your weapons, and it doesn’t take much to burn our feathers. But even if we go up in smoke, and you erase us from memory, the fact that we spent more than half of our lives flying won’t change. Your city will crumble, even if it isn’t at our hands. And you will rot away, without having flown a day in your lives.
Would you like us to stop that clock for you? We can see, as clear as day, that you want your love to last. That you want nothing more than to burn this city to the ground, to reclaim the warmth it has stolen from you. But we are birds, and you should believe us when we tell you that you really don’t want to do that. You really don’t want the smoke of this city to fill any more of the sky than it already has. If you don’t want this city to change the definition of love that has kept you warm since you were a child, you should be the one filling the sky. Let it fly. Let it stay an out-of-reach dream. Time can’t be stopped, but not everything has to rot on the ground. If those warm words mean everything to you, you should stop looking for love in this city.