They thought the boy odd from the day he was born. He had two eyes, two hands, two ears, two feet, but what confused the Great Purveyors of Reason to no end was that he giggled, even when no one was looking, even without cause.
He was the first baby born in one thousand years in the Great Sky of Reason, so they had forgotten what youth was truly like. There, above Earth’s mountains and deserts and beaches, all lived by the strict dictates of logic, and the slightest flickering of impulsiveness, of emotion was pounced upon and dissected until it was reasoned away. The Great Purveyors could not risk allowing feelings to get the better of anyone for it caused people to act irrationally or without forethought. Such behaviors were the bane of Reason and, thereby, had to be eliminated to maintain equilibrium of the mind, which was by far the most commonsensical way to live.
The boy grew older, and his smiles only increased as he discovered the world around him. His oddity became more apparent as he delighted in obscure, little things—like the feel of grass between his toes, the trickle of rainwater through his hair, the squish of mud between his palms. He chased after fireflies without a jar and built castles in the sand even though waves washed them away. His parents struggled to understand their eccentric little boy, who laughed even though he had no knowledge or philosophy or understanding of pleasure, joy, and happiness. Even once the boy was old enough to walk and talk and ask reasonable questions, his imagination remained unhindered.
Finally, after a long, rational discussion in which they reasoned with their despair of ever raising a logical man, they brought him to the Great Purveyors at the Great Observatory of Reason and left him in their sensible, capable hands.
The boy watched his parents’ retreating forms, uncertain as to why he
