This one's been knocking around in my headspace for a few years. It's only recently that I've made much headway worth talking about on it. Not quite done, but I like where it's heading.
There are old cultures, those that still remember the birth of the world, that say the star thief is a star himself, banished from the sky above for some ill deed whose truth no one can agree upon. Some say that he angered the stars that came before him, some say he shone too brightly to be allowed permanence above the clouds, unfit to share skyline with the old moon. Some say that his thoughts remained too shackled to the earth, that he had freely given up his ties to the heavens, and he was forced to live out his forever life among the midnight and the people of the earth below.
Over time, civilization has morphed his story, perverted it and made him out to be an imp-like figure, leaping impossibly quiet from rooftop to rooftop while the world sleeps, tip-toeing above the dreaming, plucking the stars from their black canvas like ripened berries until their natural disappearance at the arrival of sunrise. Some say that he carries a bag draped across his shoulders that, when opened, shines brighter than any sun. Others believe it to be a tiny, worn leather satchel slung across his chest.
Somewhere in the middle of all these stories is where he lives, a stick of a man leaping and diving through cityscapes, smiling up at the old moon with each subtle harvest of the sky. He is more a gardener of the heavens, pruning the branches of the cloudless midnight by taking those stars that are closest to dimming forever. He struggles to keep the sky lit up in just the right way so that wonder remains in those that still take the time to look up and allow themselves to be awed.
It is a job he volunteered for long ago when cities began to light themselves, illuminating the horizon for miles in every direction. The night began to wither under the advancements of men; their wonder at the heavens diminished as their wonder at their own handiwork flourished and kept their eyes cast ever downward.
His bare feet grip the weathered terracotta shingles of the homes below, propelling him forward through the night and giving him purchase enough to stop and reach his spindly fingers up into the air, removing dying star after dying star from the midnight sky and placing each carefully within his pouch where they all dim together in comfort.
He makes his way across the rooftops with unimaginable speed and care, pirouetting across the ogees, the slants, bouncing off sloped turrets and rotundas. He dives off into the gaps between buildings, reaching up at the last moment to grip a ledge or an exposed bit of piping and then flips himself up like an impossible gymnast to the next roof, and the roof after that, and so on. His nights are full of aerial joy, the wind pushing him ever onward, each gust an approval of his work.
Tonight, a glimmer appears in the corner of his eye, captures his attention. A light flickers on in a bedroom nearby. A small child, a girl, sits at her window with head in hands staring up at the full moon. The star thief slinks into the shadows to watch and smiles at the glint that grows in her eyes. There is wonder there; there is unspoken validation for the thankless work that he does. Eventually, the girl turns, the room goes dark. The star thief presses on, emboldened, not knowing that the girl full of the wonder has seen him before and that his shadow appears in her dreams every night.
For him, time is a funny idea, one he never thinks about. He lives and breathes with each new moon that rises, for each old star that he is able to save from dying alone in the sky. He disappears like smoke when the sun begins to warm the horizon, melting over land and sea with its spectacular entrance. He emerges from the shadows when it disappears on the opposite horizon in no less a spectacular fashion. His senses awaken; he can taste the blue darken above him, can smell the black beyond that cocoons his dimming, hanging jewels. A year for the earth-bound is a blink of an eye for him.
But he found his nightly pattern changing. Always he would spiral up out of the shadows into the night air and breathe in deeply, letting it fill his lungs with so much joy. His body would float down slowly as he exhaled, naked toes gripping a rooftop and off he’d fly, plucking and pruning until the moon was at its apex in the sky. It was then he would find himself at the window of the young girl who always seemed to be awake when the moon was highest.
At first he found himself perching several rooftops away, hidden safely behind a chimney so he could watch for the glimmer to come from her eyes, to see the stars reflected back unto themselves. Whether it was days or weeks, he couldn’t be sure, but soon he was on the roof directly opposite, staring longingly at the girl across the way, her sleepy hair draped across the shoulders of her nightgown, hands propping her head up to the heavens.
The first few nights, he would simply wait until she went to bed before flying off to finish his work, but eventually he took to priming certain stars for her benefit, pinching some of the younger ones to increase their glow and keep her attention.
Before he knew it, the girl was no longer a girl, but a young and beautiful woman. She took to sitting at her window every night, brushing her hair in the dark and staring up into the midnight sky. Though he still didn’t know it, she knew he was out there somewhere, though she hadn’t seen him in years. But she believed, and that’s all that was needed.
Perched upon her roof, he looked down at her window. As she brushed her hair in the moonlight, he sprinkled the slightest bit of stardust down on her. Tiny specks of galaxy and starlight made her hair sparkle in the dark as she brushed and brushed, not paying attention to her hair, but instead looking far off into the distance.
The star thief leaped from her roof to an adjoining one and watched her continue her nightly ritual, the brush slowly spreading the stardust through her mane. Her hair took on a slight glow that would be noticeable by anyone looking on, but the woman in the window would be hard-pressed to say she noticed it herself. Soft and slow was the motion of her hands as one held her hair and the other brushed through it gently. Her mind was miles away, the blanket of sky above her keeping her enraptured with its quiet calm, its dark beauty.
'Soon after, there was a time period where the woman stopped coming to the window. Her room remained dark and unlit, her window remained closed. The star thief sat and wondered where she could have possibly gone and then finally risked being seen and made his way down to the window sill.
He peeked his head around the flashing and could see the inner workings of the room. Wooden floors gave way to creamy white-colored walls upon which hung numerous photos of other people. Two lamps sat on two bedside tables, each on either side of the large bed that seemed to have gone unslept in for who knew how long. He could see no movement anywhere in the room. Quickly, he pulled himself back up onto the roof and wondered where the woman could have gone so suddenly. Frantically, he scampered along the walls of the home and peered into every window only to find the entire house dark and devoid of life. Only the furniture and the decorations remained.
Three nights later, when he’d very nearly given up on seeing the woman again, he saw from several blocks away that her window was dimly lit. Feverishly, he replaced the burned out stars and pinched the ones that still had a little life in them, and very nearly flew across the rooftops to see what news would come from her windowsill. What he found as he perched on the roof across the street struck him with sadness. So much so that the night sky dimmed a little to reflect his mood, a thing it hadn’t done in hundreds of years.
The woman sat at the window again, brushing her hair like normal. But the star thief could see white patches that had been taped over her eyes. He understood in that moment that she was unable to see, that something tragic had happened and caused her to go blind. His eyes began to water as he clung there, his fingers and toes digging into the rooftop painfully. What could have possibly happened to allow this? What cruel joke was this that kept one of the few people of this earth, one who loved its night sky so much, from enjoying that pleasure? It wasn’t right, but he didn’t know if there was anything he could do.
He could hear a soft voice come from the back of the room. The woman in the window nodded and soon the dim light went out, leaving her to sit in the blackness of her room while facing the immensity of the night outside. Before long, he could hear her sniffling and crying quietly. This lasted a mercifully few minutes and then the woman composed herself, wiping the tears from her cheeks and sitting up straighter in her chair. The night went silent again, save for the soft chittering of nature in the treetops and frogs in the woods.
The star thief moved from rooftop to rooftop and glided silently through the air to her. The breeze swept across her cheeks and moved her hair out of place. As he landed, a tiny pebble of an almost insignificant size began rolling down the sloped roof and clanged against the gutter running along the roofline.
The woman put her hands out on the window’s ledge gingerly, making sure to hold tight before she stood up and leaned out into the night. “Hello?” she whispered. “Are you out there?”
Shocked, the star thief nearly lost his footing, but caught himself before inadvertently giving his position away. Clearly, he’d been careless if she knew he was out there somewhere. He slunk back further into the shadows just to be sure.
“I’ve seen you before, you know,” she whispered out into the night. “When I was just a girl. I used to sit here at this ledge and dream about all the far-off places I’d never get to see. One night, I saw you leaping from rooftop to rooftop I stopped wondering about those far off places and started wondering about you; who you were, what you were doing, and whether you were friend or foe.” She paused and sighed.
He emerged from the shadow of the rooftop and stared down at her. The copper-colored hair of her youth had darkened into a softer brown. Her skin had smoothed out, her smile had widened. She was terribly beautiful up close.
“I sensed that you were friendly. Because what kind of bad or evil person would take such delight in the quiet of the night the way you did? I only saw you a couple times, but I never forgot about you. Are you out there?”
He smiled at her in the dark, knelt down beside the window, and whispered. “I’m here, child. And I am certainly a friend.”
She covered her mouth and gasped but remained at the window. “You’re real! I wasn’t just imagining things.”
He shook his head and gave a short laugh. “Oh, you were certainly imagining plenty, but I can assure you that I am here, and I am real.” He reached out and touched her left hand gently. She quickly took it in hers, clasped it, and tears began to fall from behind her bandages.
He smiled and then took her face in his hand, softly thumbing the tears away. “What happened, child? Why can’t you see the night sky anymore?”
She sniffled and gave him a wavering smile. “I’ve been sick. It’s a disease that cannot be cured and forces me to be careful about what I eat. In some cases, this disease can make people like me go blind. I guess I’m one of the unlucky few this time around.”
He frowned and continued to run his thumb along her cheek, feeling her soft, smooth skin in the light of the moon. It pained him to see her in such a way, but was there anything he could do to assuage it, to make her feel better about her situation? He looked back up into the night sky briefly, caught the twinkle of several newly replaced stars, and felt an epiphany bubbling up inside him in such a way that he very nearly couldn’t contain his excitement.
“My dear,” he whispered. “If I could find a way to make you see again, would you take it?”
Her sniffling stopped and she cocked her head up toward his voice. “Does such a thing exist? Could it possibly be?”
He shook his head. “I don’t know. It’s just an idea, but I think it may work. Would you be interested in trying it out?”
Her face took on a pensive look, one of worried determination. “I believe I would, yes. What would it cost me?”
His smile widened in the dark, but she could hear it in his voice. “Only your blindness, child. Only your blindness. The gift would be freely given and without any strings.”
More tears streamed down her face, but he could tell these were happier tears, the ones containing joy and hope. She nodded her head furiously and held her arms out as if to grab him. He leaned in and wrapped his arms around her, squeezing her softly before he let go and scampered away.
“I shall return tomorrow night. Mayhap I will have a solution by then,” his voice sang out in the dark. She sniffled again and waved out to the nighttime, not seeing where he had gone and wondering if he had really truly appeared at her window with hopeful news.
He backflipped off the roof out into the air, leaped off of the side of a nearby home, and vaulted himself up onto its rooftop. He turned back to the woman’s window and saw her, smiling and perched at the sill as if she could still see the moonlight.
He would find a way. He had to.'
