There was a boy. The boy had a long tail. When he walked in the streets his tail was leaving a long line behind him. His mother was a beautiful lady. His father was dead. The people were wondering why he didn’t remove his tail, why he didn’t have a surgery. But the boy liked it. He liked to use it as a sit when he wanted to chill out, he liked to put it in the fridge and taking it out cold and touch his nose with it. Then, one day he met that girl. She was pretty and bright. She was a lovely girl. He offered his tail to her as a sit. She first smiled and then she told him: “One day your tail will be either long enough for both of us to sit, or you will have shortened it this much that no one would ever think you once had a tail”. Having said those words, she took the bus and left. The boy was standing there watching the bus leaving, thinking that this girl had something in her that was so familiar, something in her voice that was turning the pavements into high streets. At least that was his first silly thought.
Next morning while driving down the high-way on his bike, he noticed a bright star on the light blue sky. It couldn’t be. It was already 10am. It must have been a plane. A few hours later, a lion was killed in the central park. It had escaped from the zoo and run towards the crowded place. People were scared and someone had shot it, an officer they said. The boy was standing near and so he approached the crowd. The lion was lying down on the grass. He noticed the tail. It was long and shiny and beautiful, it reminded him of the words of that girl at the bus station. Lost in his thoughts, someone rushed on the crowed shouting and dropped him on the grass. It seemed like some people had gone wild when they find out about the death of the animal. He was now lying next to the lion. His eyes were closed and it seemed so peaceful. He touched his face. The hair was soft. It was beautiful. The blood was dry. He wished the lion hadn’t died. So deeply he wished that that at some point he thought he saw the eyes moving, but then he realised it was only his imagination.
When he left the crowded place, walked threw the green-peace protesters, the police and others, he thought again of that girl. He went back to the bus station. She wasn’t there.
Could this have been just a lie? The girl, the star, the lion? It was a lie he told himself and he went back home later that evening, ate with his family and went to bed. His life next morning was the same as usual. And he forgot of that girl, that star and that day forever. He grew old and died with his long tail that he used it as a walking stick during the last years of his normal life.