The town of Lost Mahall is a place of regret.
Brutes come in droves both to drink out woes and to unload their unrest. Shadows sell their wares, blackened gums and hollowed eyes searing bargains into wares and holes into crests. Ladies marked in red follow next, unblemished faces hiding soul-searching death. And last, but not least, the noble men rest; their goal to dream of riches unspent by the notches they do well to rend at the cost of unmarked ladies. And them? They rest against the barrels, their unwitting charges laying bare across their chests. Their faces wet in anguish, the lives across their breast snuffed out by the stench.
But in one alley, a woman only once wept. Across her battered beaten corpse lay a life unrent, untouched unlike the rest. Its shine streaked across the mess, attracting all to its life giving glow. The brutes ceased their crashing, the shadows held their tongues, the fakers stopped their patrols, and the nobles stilled their hearts. All in the dirty, stinking town of Lost Mahall gathered round the unheard of little child whose name was not known.
Who could this child be they all wondered, too pure to be their own they thought and yet here he was found, amongst the forgotten, dirtied garbage they thought to be thrown out. It was then, in their awed appreciation that the first peal of sorrow was heard from the infant. A mad scramble ensued! Their hearts were aching at the thought of pain accrued! And so, enduring the nights of languish and woe, the people banded together to raise up this child of new.
7 years pass and the child is older. His features astounding, resplendent in truth. His idols the burly men at the taverns, the ones who taught him chess. His uncles the enthusiastic vendors, whose lips they keep well met. His brothers the nobles who hide notches well rent. And his sisters the keepers, whose guests they neatly lead to bed. The boy they named discover knew nothing of the depth of the secrets they kept. He roamed the streets of Lost Mahall, knowing not the dangers he lept. He spread cheer amongst the people, all who saw him would repent, repent the sins they knew not to commit.
And so the story would continue, little guide spreading smiles wherever he went had it not been for one fateful evening, when he stumbled into trouble the size of a shrew. Back home did he stumble, back home to the crew; who grew increasingly alarmed at the size of his shoe. For many days and even nights the little guide struggled, sweat pouring down his temples, pain being all that he knew. And as for the people of Lost Mahall oh how they did struggle, searching left and right they looked for a cure to the plague their little lost light had renwed. The men prowled taverns, the vendors trading stories. The ladies pleading help and the nobles asking through. They knew they could not waste a second for their sweet little guide was suffering through and through. Day and night they wandered, day and night they knew, that their little light was burning, that their efforts must be renewed.
Back at home little guide wondered, though the pain and agony ensued, where was his family? The older men at the taverns, his uncles sly and shrew, his sisters dressed in tissue, and his brothers too accrued. All he wished for was their presence, but they were nowhere in sight. Their traces left aplenty, warm wishes of best regards, but wishes were not his warrant, not his inquiry nor regard. All he wanted was for them to be there, when he ascended back to the stars. He knew it not to be, so he wrote a letter, explaining all that was left to be.
And so his time departed, his last breath come to pass. And the people cried out in anguish, to mourn their little star. Much anger was readily ushered, much grief and hopeless grasp, but that was when they saw it; a note made by his hand. On its surface lay a moon, a moon to bright to last. His final message that, he enjoyed it while it last.
And so the dark days passed, the people went back to their daily tasks. The Brutes went back to drinking, the shadows sold their wares, the ladies swept the streets, and the nobles went back to lack. But one crucial thing had changed, as a result of their little false star. The Brutes went to drinking, to sharing tall tales of awe; the vendors kept on selling, helping find a fair ware for all; the ladies went through alleys, helping up the women there, and the men kept up their promise, lending hands in bonded pairs.
All the people changed for the better, their hearts renewed with care. All from the forgiveness of one little boy, one little false star of hope.
For he was their little moon, the one to eclipse them all.