A strange building arrives in a small french town and captures the attention of a young boy.
It sits in one of the most peculiar corners of the world. Rather it makes the corners of the world peculiar. It stands taller than the average man, about as wide as the typical building, and roughly the width of two large coins sitting side by side. It is broken into five equal sections each filled from the top of it to about three feet off the ground by a window. Each window displaying a drawing of a red velvet curtain upon, as those around it speculate, large pieces of wood. Under the window a handle and under the handle a slot.
When this particular building arrived in this particular corner, known by locals as France, it was the cause of a great deal of questions. When the last citizen of the town had taken to sleep, it had not been there. However when the first citizen to wake that morning had awoken, there it stood in the town square. The wildfire of curiosity, set by the first citizen to awake that morning, drew all out of their cottages and into the dawn light. The children, being naturally more curious, began to carefully inspect the building, as children do, by pushing and twisting and hanging upon the handles. When they found each of the handles immovable they resorted to climb and play upon the building anyway; one child was able to climb to and sit upon the top while waving his hands and acting above all trying to reach him; he was the king now. The adults, unamused, began to call for the removal of the building and the king had been dethroned.
For weeks the higher powers of the town did all in their power to remove the building. Some tried to heave it away with ropes, but firmly planted on the ground it remained. The priests, believing it to be unholy although it had done nothing, tried to will it away with daily showers of holy water. Some attempted to burn it but ended lighting themselves instead. Then as miraculously as the building had arrived the town had forgotten it, except the children who still found delight within the simplicity of something that could remove them from the earth or make them king.
One child in particular liked to sit facing the building and to stare up at it. He, at about six, had within him a determination greater than all of the townspeople combined although only slightly greater than that of the children around him. While they were determined to reach the top, he had gotten it in his mind that the building must have a purpose because everything has a purpose, even flies; he had just yet to discover what its purpose was. Each night after the rest of the children had been called away to supper this little boy would carefully inspect each handle trying to turn each this way and that and still finding each immovable.
Like the building, this child had come only to be noticed by the other children, and, like the building, this child had become an object of play. The other boys of the town would pushing him into mud or onto the dirt adding to the already filthy remnants of his sunday best. They would taunt him with the story of his parents’ death although everyday he became a bit more deaf to their words. His eyes made them swirl and close around him until he would will himself into blackness. Previously the blackness would shed light on the faded memories of his parents but more recently it was consumed with finding the purpose of the building.