Little Eyes

by Samanta Schweblin

She wasn’t surprised, nor did it strike her as an important discovery, because a much deeper revelation suddenly caught her attention: nothing mattered. In her body, every impulse asked, What for? It wasn’t tiredness, or depression, or lack of vitamins. It was a feeling similar to lack of interest, but much more expansive.

The un-artiste. Nobody, for no one and for nothing, ever. Resistant to any kind of concretion or creation. Her body placed itself in the in-between, protecting her from the risk of ever one day achieving something.

if you managed to get out into the snow, and if you pushed your kentuki hard enough against a bank that was nice and white and fluffy, you could leave your mark. And that was just like touching the other end of the world with your own fingertips.

Maybe some keepers did for their kentukis what they couldn’t do for themselves.