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It’s as if something decided to throw a star into the room and break it into a million sparkling pieces.
Instead of having gravity pull them down, the universe decided to let the broken star have some fun, and the pieces floated throughout the dark room. The room was like a tiny replica of the galaxies right outside its walls. From time to time, a piece of a star would bounce softly off a wall and carry on its merry way. Sometimes, a piece would bump into the makeshift crib that hung diagonally from one top corner to another, and the baby in it would cry. And if the broken star would then emit a soft apologetic shine throughout the room, no one but the universe would really know. And if the planets peered in through the singular window – casting a warm glow onto the baby’s face as their gravitational force tried to gently tug the baby towards them with comforting promises of future reunions – well, no one but the universe would know. Still, the baby would stop its tears.
The universe itself didn’t know where the infant came from, but the universe also did not care about that either. It recognized that a child was a gift, and so now, the child had a home.
A human baby. All the way out here , the universe pondered after the room was completed. It didn’t ponder long before other matters worried it away from the room.
After all, the stars and the planets would care for the kid.
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The star fragments were like fireflies; they floated as they emitted delicate, fluctuating glows.
When the baby opened its eyes for the first time, the light from the fragments completely dissipated, as if afraid to hurt the young’s eyes. The planets outside have gotten closer to the room ever since the universe left, and along with the intricate designs of the windowsill and the gray walls, the giants hovering protectively over her will be the first view the baby will have in her life.
She stared at them with wide eyes, and the giants and the fragments seemed to coo. A fortunate piece of the star lazily glided over the baby’s face, causing her to reach out with all her might to grab it with her chubby hands. One would think a star, even more so a broken part, would have sharp edges. Yet there the star fragment was, smooth and safe in the baby’s mouth.
The rest of the stars were also smoothened over the past month. It was the giants’ doing – their gravitational force tugged out the loose sharp ends of the stars. Both sides agreed to create the child a gift with the leftovers.
The gift resided on the floor beneath the crib, waiting for the right age when the child could wield it.
The child had fallen asleep again some time ago, and the piece she had grabbed onto was floating once again. The star emitted their warmth once again as the planets gently rocked the crib back and forth, back and forth until the next time she would open her eyes – and then after that, and then after that.
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Soon enough, the baby was a year old and has since been let out of the crib to discover the rest of the fluffy white carpet of the room. Her gift now rested upon the crib she once used.
She would still grab onto fragments and hold them in her arms – or her mouth – with more strength than before, and then let go after being distracted by something else. When tired, she would curl up on the carpet, not needing any blanket except her gray clothes and the heat from the pieces surrounding her.
Her chest would rise and fall, and the star and the planets would watch over her.
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It has been another two months, and the baby has barely made any sound besides her crying or a huff after tripping over her own hands when she crawled.
This was a problem that concerned the giants and the fragments increasingly. The giants heard tales of great human orators from their sibling planet that was galaxies away, and the stars would hear tales from their cousins of how humans were able to create a physical voice to the space around them. After a deep discussion, they called the universe back.
The child should also be walking by now , the universe added on after observing her for a while.
The giants and the star gasped in horror, mumbling to each other in hurried whispers. The infant stared awe-struck at the flickering fragments around her. She will never seem to grow tired of them.
The universe reached to hold her hand, and she jumped slightly. Confusion manifested into tears at the corner of her eyes, and her lips trembled. They all observed her as some tears slipped down her cheeks.
A force rushed through the room as the planets bristled, What are you doing!? They asked with fury. The lights flickered all the more in agreement.
The child sniffled as she continued to stare at her hand being held.
She needs to be nurtured , the universe states.
The planets go quiet and the star dims immediately, stunned into silent motionlessness.
We have been nurturing her! The fragments cry out after a moment, too pained to light up again. The planets glower at the universe.
With all due respect, The All Mighty , the giant's voices rumbled through the insulating walls and floors – the baby looked around quickly at the change, yet no one but the universe paid her any mind, You have just made her cry for no reason, and we have been caring for her. How would you know what she needs?
Then why did you call me if you didn’t know that knowing is my job , the universe states, a searing disappointment hid behind it’s calm tone. The giants and the fragments stayed still and voiceless once again.
The universe gently laid the baby’s hand onto the soft carpet before peering over the crib. The baby’s tears have ceased – and to the planets’ and star’s surprise – she reached out to the hand that the universe held, whining, and seemingly trying to grasp something that wasn’t there. After proving futile in the goals she herself didn’t know about, she clasped that hand close to her chest, longing filling her eyes with tears once again.
What is this object? The universe asked suddenly and furiously, and despite asking a question, it seemed to know very well what said object was. The planets and the star cowered under the universe’s wrath, but unsure of the conflict at hand.
The star spoke first, It’s a sword, The All Mighty. Made from my residu–
I can see. Why was this made and why is it here? The universe roared.
The baby, previously unbeknownst to the argument unfolding before her, felt the shudder rippling through the space around her, saw how it slightly moved all the floating pieces of star away from the window, and voiced her confusion through even more cries. The universe quickly stopped itself, and it reached down to hold both her hands this time.
Her sniffles lessened, and she leaned into the invisible force that held her.
Forgive me for that, child , the universe whispered, and now the rumbles were comforting instead of upsetting. The three watched her intently as her breathing slowed down slightly, her grasp on the universe relaxed, and the universe laid her down slowly onto the ground to rest. As if on instinct, the star began to glow and exude warmth.
So? The universe pressed on after a long period of silence.
We thought it would be a nice gift for the child when she is older, the giants explained.
Something to protect herself with , the star continued, we know humans like weapons.
The environment was engulfed in silence once more as the ancient one mulled over their words. Finally, it reaches an ultimatum: The child does not need this type of weapon for protection. It will need something else.
If the baby were to be awake, she would have seen the creation of both her greatest blessing as well as her worst curse. The universe lifted the star-infused sword, liquifying it in a matter of seconds into a shifting mass that floated in mid air. The silent cracks of the star and planets’ hearts were felt through a melancholic disturbance in the air, and although they knew they would not receive an apology for the destruction of hard work, they trusted that The All Mighty knew what it was doing. The child whimpered a bit in her sleep but did not wake up.
The drooping mass of the excess star began to move in swirling wisps above the crib, clashing sounds and electric sparks sprouting from the bright spectacle as if its energy was too much to contain. However, that was exactly what was happening. Some of the magic flew out to the rest of the room, hugging the walls and leaving behind vague outlines of the universe’s gift to the baby sleeping soundly on the floor. After what seemed like an hour of the process – which in reality was only a mere 7 seconds – the final products were left behind, sizzling with leftover energy until that dissipated.
Against every wall, from top to bottom, were books upon books of all sizes, colors, and contents. Laying on the crib where a sword used to be was a pen.
Needless to say, the star and the planets were quite perplexed.
Sensing the confusion, the universe spoke their final words before leaving them behind once again, Knowledge is the greatest weapon. You will teach her and she will learn. Then, she will teach herself, and she will learn. You’ll be surprised when she starts teaching you something. The universe then sighed, although it was not because the planets or the star didn’t know what to think of what it just said – it knew they wouldn’t, A human should usually embrace their child.
Before the planets and the star could comprehend the words, the universe has left to attend to other matters far from where they were. They imprinted the words into their beings, remembering them for the years to come to ruminate about. For now, the room was still for the first time since the room was made.
In the usual silence, they observed the child as she slept. Ever so slightly, they noticed the child curl into herself more as if cold.
The room was never cold.