There was once a little boy. This boy loved the things that shone like the bright light in the blue sky. One of his favorite things to do was sleep in a field of grass where the bright thing could reach down and fill his mind with happy dreams. He liked the way the his skin felt in the warmth.
The boy has a loving father.
The boy asked his father what that bright thing in the sky was. The father said that is the sun, my son. The father smiled at his son and the boy smiled back. His favorite thing in the whole world finally had a name, just like his.
"Dad, if I am your son." He pauses, "Who is his dad?"
The father smiles and chuckles at this confusion and explains how the sun is not a son like the boy was for him. The boy no longer smiles at this fact.
"If he doesn't have a dad then who makes him so happy?"
The father smiles and chuckles again. He explains how the sun is not a person. "Remember at night when the small lights are out?"
"Well, those small lights are like this bright sun." He walks over to the window with the boy to look at the sun. "The sun is a star."
"Why don't the small lights come out in the day like the sun?"
The father explains how the stars are burning gases like fire. The boy smiles.
"Dad, can I go play with the sun?"
"Yes my son. You can go play with the sun." He opens the door for the little boy, smiles, and watches the boy play for a few moments. "You are my brightest star." He wispers to himself as he raises a hand to the cold glass.
"Hello Sun!" The boy yells to the bright thing. "Come down to play!"
The boy is running around trying to entice the sun to come play.
"Why don't you play with me Sun?" The little boy is just standing in a field of grass yelling at the sun. "Come play!"
The boy got an idea. The boy, leaving a small, greasy hand on the cold glass, sneaks inside behind his father. The boy gets to the heavy door. Its soooooo heavy. He reaches for the cold handle and heaves the door open. The boy tip-toes to a large, leather armchair. He puts his bare knees in the cold seat and reaches over to a little box that fits so right in his little hands.
Sitting outside the boy takes a stick out of the box and lights it. "You glow like the Sun. Will you play with me?" He drops the stick in the dry grass.
It's just like one of his sweet dreams. The little boy is overjoyed with the warmth of the Sun on his skin.
The father sits in a cold chair that faces the outside world. He no longer smiles when he looks out to the field where his son once played. Two cold hands printed as clear as day in the cold glass haunt his memory.
One day the father drops his own stick in a field of grass. "I'll play with you my Sun."