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Words from the Author:
Grew up in Canada and being a novelist for such a long time, of course there are many stories written in English, but are rarely presented. Even rarely seen, are my Chinese short stories ever brought back into English.
So here I proudly present this English version of one of my short stories, cherished already by many, delicated to all of my best friends in Canada, and from Canada.
Please enjoy, in the quiet evening of the Silent Night.
Yours truly
Zephon W. 2008
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WHY DO STARS SMILE
A short story by Zephon W.
“Why, do the stars always smile?”
A simple question coming out of a ten-year-old, made the answer far more complicated than most adults would think. When facing with the Boy’s the endless “whys,” only the Girl could ever satisfy.
“’cause we’re here together!”
As a simple answer to a simple question would, the Girl replied.
The stars in the silky night indeed shined with magical smiles.
As time came to pass, the Boy and the Girl all grew up; having different personal affairs to attend to, they had less and less time to gaze upon the stars. And as knowledge and experience gained, things of magic and of dreams gradually disappear; the Boy now knew the stars that once smiled upon him, were nothing but huge fireballs in the vastness of space, undergoing nuclear reactions of breaking down helium as countless others. They were not as eternal as storied once told, nor were they ever so mysterious and magical.
Sometimes, and only sometimes, when loneliness abruptly broke out of him, would the Boy allow himself time to stare at the far end of the sky for the entire night. He wondered, for most of these moments, as to where the Girl had gone, leaving him alone with the never-changing sky. No, something did change: instead of a sky full of smiles, it was filled now only with emptiness and bitterness of the cold nights.
Sometimes, and only sometimes, would he find himself back into to the days of a much simpler time, and allowed his naïve side to surface and to ask why:
“Why, do the stars smile no more?”
The question was more directed at himself than others, for people just shook their heads, laughed at the silly question, and passed on by.
There was no Girl to answer his whys.
Though the Boy did grow, there always lived a child in him; there were still many things he did not understand, still many things explained with his imaginative mind – but that was only when he was all alone: the only time he could afford reading the grown-up world still through the child-like eyes, and be shielded by the shrapnels of this jarred reality.
As Chinese Valentine’s Day drew near, he began to miss the Girl more and more as each day passed. Some said that she went to the other end of the heavens, and the Boy could not help but wonder: if he could stand on the bridge built by magpie birds like so in the story of “The Cowherd and The Girl Weaver,” would he be able to get a glimpse, just a glimpse, of the Girl?