The first word was joy, due to someone else’s misery, but joy nonetheless, a source of light. At the bottom of the next page we found the top of the skull, and it made us think of stars, of the vault of heaven. And somewhere else we found a ferret, the last piece, a creature with a delightfully unsociable ring to its name (in another language).
There is a city that looks like all the others. A ferret lives there. At night there are stars. But a closer look reveals that they don’t hang from the sky. That black thing is made of bone. It’s the skull of a little girl. One that has learned to find joy in someone else’s suffering. That is the only comfort she knows. And the ferret can’t complain, because it lives in a city. One that is as responsible as all the other cities for erasing those stars, that otherwise would have kept shining their joy. No. The ferret can’t blame that little girl. For finding the only joy left in that city, and hanging it from her skull every night.
Here you go. The future is yours to do as you please.
Grow, little sprout, grow. I know for certain that one day you will touch the sky.
You want to do it on your own, without help? Be my guest.
You want my help? You only had to ask. It will be my pleasure.
It’s the first time I have seen a star in this city. Now it’s mine. I will never relinquish it.
It’s a city, what did you expect? It was built for unsociable ferrets like me.
In this city the number of visible stars doesn’t even reach 1 percent. It would have been kinder to banish them all.
Am I the only one that, knowing how those stars get their light, would have preferred to live in a dark city?