ORIGINS: The book said that mice are magical beings of the night. It had a nice ring to it. But the word for those magical beings was DUENDE, and we have already explained our problem with that word. So, once again, nameless magic it is.
I am a mouse, I gnaw at the night. The stars are the crumbs that fall from my mouth. It’s not magic. There is nothing more mundane than feeding. But I won’t stop you if you want to use that word. If you need your dreams to mean more than they really do.
If I could leave the stars intact, I would. I would gnaw at the night, until dawn broke, and I could entrust a handful of stars to a hopeless child. But I am a mouse, and there are some things in this world that no amount of magic can change. I don’t particularly like the taste of cheese, but it is what I know. What I see. Empty holes. And I would rather not hand that certainty down, to a starless child that doesn’t deserve tears in his eyes.
The mice can keep the night, I prefer to gnaw at the moon. Until there is no light left. Nothing borrowed. Only the truth. I am nice like that. I don’t go for someone’s heart. I only destroy the lies that bring people together. The ones that make them feel like they belong. Like they are another bright star in the night.
What’s the point? I could spend my whole life gnawing at the night, like a diligent little mouse, and I wouldn’t even make a dent in the darkness. But something tells me that if I took up gnawing at the stars tonight, it wouldn’t even take me a whole childhood to succeed. That even if I gnawed half-heartedly, I would succeed. And I don’t know how to grow up with that depressing thought in mind.
