Little Eyes

by Samanta Schweblin

I may be crazy, but at least I’m modern, she thought.

Girl, same

If Sven knew all, if the artiste was a committed laborer and every second of his time was another step toward an irrevocable destiny, then she was exactly the opposite. The last point at the other end of the continuum of beings on this planet. 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.

For his father’s generation, illegal was a word that set off alarm bells; for Grigor, it was an overrated term that already sounded antiquated. “Not until it’s regulated,” said Grigor.

If being anonymous online was the maximum freedom for any user—and, what’s more, almost impossible—how would it feel, then, to be an anonymous actor in someone else’s life?

They were on the ground, or on the ground that was sometimes in the sky, and he was in the air, spinning between two worlds, praying for that other life, one that could deliver him.

He’d become obsessed, he understood that, and the fact that he realized it was proof that the situation was not beyond his control. Deep down, simply, Enzo believed that two lonely people, from two possibly very different worlds, had a lot to share with and teach each other. He needed that company, he wanted it for both of them, and he would end up winning it.