The islanders rose with the sun, filled with happiness and energy. The light of the celestial star shone upon their merry faces with radiance and a certain harmony. Joy seemed to be the air the islanders breathed in, breathing out all their woes and worries. Harmony reigned on the island.
There was however one flaw, one smudge to this sunny painting. Sequestered in his bedroom, a boy of about ten years old had also risen with the sun. Only, the joyful power of the star had no impact on him. The boy was mute and paralyzed from the waist and below, therefore unable to leave his room. All he could manage was sitting down, looking thoughtfully at the sun through the barred window, longing for freedom.
From his room, he could see the blue of the sea, the white foam forming as the waves broke on the faraway cliffs. From his room, he could feel the salty air caressing his face, like a siren tempting him out. There was peace outside, peace and joy and the boy could not reach it. Just like every morning, he sighed.
Rising in the east and setting in the west, the blazing sun accomplished its course, once more. The sky gradually veered from azure blue to burning orange to velvet dark, dark velvet only illuminated by the ghostly white of the moon. And once more, the boy went to sleep, wishing for the comfort of dreams.
That night, he dreamt of the ocean and the sea. He was free, walking towards the sea. The night was cool and the sand fresh. It felt good to walk, to walk towards the sea.
Soon, water welcomed him as he started to go deeper and deeper. It surrounded him on every side as he moved his arms and legs to swim. He could swim! The sensation was amazing, pure, and fresh. Being in water was like deliverance, feeling the cool and wet entity swirling around him. Seldom did darkness felt so safe. The boy moved feet and arms, swimming and laughing, bubbles coming out of his mouth. As he swam, light suddenly cast the darkness away, revealing a gleaming white shark. “Come, come…” said the voice of the sea. “Come listen to the blue song.” The boy tried to swim to the shark. He wanted to listen to the song. But the closer he got to the shark, the farther the animal seemed to be, unreachable…
And then, the sun again. The boy woke up to another gloomy day amongst the sunny faces of the islanders. With the sun came the lock that took away his freedom. But every night, he would dream again of the gleaming pale shark exhorting him to come listen to the blue song. And every morning, the boy would try to leave his bed, to leave his room. But couldn’t because he was paralyzed. He despised his inability to walk and talk. Every morning until he went to sleep, he would look at the sea from his barred window, see the other children running free to the ocean, and feel a pang of self-hatred and anger…
When a bird in a cage wants its freedom, it will peck the lock with its beak until it breaks or until it dies. Like a bird in a cage, the boy tried to free himself, tried to walk, tried to speak. But life had long left his feet and the words refuses to come out of his mouth. It was useless...
Another day. Another sun. The islanders rose with the sun, feeling its joy, its heat. The boy woke up as usual, feeling once more caged by the blue of the sky and the yellow of the sun. He sighed once more, wondering when he would be free, when he would be able to listen to the blue song of the sea. His parents brought him some breakfast but he refused to eat. He had found a bit of peace in retreating himself from reality into the depth of his mind and imagination. He would use his dream as source of inspiration and make himself wander in the ocean, swimming with sharks and other fishes. He could almost feel the wetness of the water and its cold caress like in his dream. However, that wasn’t enough. He wanted more. He needed more.
An hour later, his mother came to ask him how he was. He nodded to say he was fine. But he wasn’t. He couldn’t tell them however. He was trapped in this body. Pecking the lock until freedom or death. His mother stayed with him for a while, telling him an old fisherman tale. The boy couldn’t handle being told about the sea. Sadly, he turned his face towards the barred window.
As the evening approached, his mother and father helped him to the small bathroom into the bath tub for him to take a bath. “Enjoy,” his father said, petting him gently. The boy sighed and opened the tap. Water ran into the tub. The boy looked at it, at the way the shapeless and colorless fluid flooded the tub. “Come listen to the blue song of the sea” he heard like an echo in his head. I will, he thought, closing his eyes. He closed his eyes and let his body sink in the water that kept flooding the tub. A little smile appeared on his face as the level of the water passed his head, spilling on the floor of the bathroom. There was no more air. The boy breathed in and starting to suffocate, his lungs filling with water. His body fought for air, but the boy didn’t. Instead, he welcomed the freedom.
The sun set, taking its joy away. Grief and sadness filled the island as the news of the death of the boy spread. The parents cried and so did the close friends. It seemed as if the sun would never rise again.
The name of the island was Lluvatar. The sun was worshipped there. But at nights, certain islanders preferred worshipping the pale light of the moon. Those ones were often witnesses of an uncanny phenomenon: a pale figure, the ghost of ten year-old boy, giggling and running towards the sea, singing a blue song.