The first sparkle
before the light there was a small yellow +.
The water was black all the way down. No floor, no ceiling, only pressure and something small living inside it. That something was Cloro — not yet a name, but already a shape: eight slow arms, two coin-colored eyes, a body that pulsed once every long while.
Cloro had never seen light. The dark was a language, and Cloro spoke it fluently. Then the dark cracked. A small yellow plus-sign appeared, no bigger than the tip of an arm, hanging in the water. It did not flicker. It simply insisted on being there.
Cloro drifted up and touched the crossing of it. For the first time in the history of being Cloro, Cloro felt warm. The dark leaned back, embarrassed, like a large animal caught watching something sleep.
The plus stayed. It is still there, if you know where to look. Every other sparkle in the world learned how to shine by watching that one.
