He was born on Sunday. On Monday of his life he first crawled, tasting everything that fell into his hands, then rose on both feet and walked, casting aside all that came underfoot. The indistinct sounds he made on Monday transformed into words by Tuesday. Words formed into sentences. He spoke. He smiled at life with his newly cut white teeth. Everything was going beautifully! On Wednesday he learned to think and understood that his life's main desire fit in two simple words: "I want!" And the world, growing larger and wider each day, began to revolve around him. He no longer crawled. He no longer walked. He ran, so as not to miss anything called life. On Thursday tragedy struck. His teeth fell out. The tragedy quickly turned to triumph, for new ones grew in. With new teeth he gripped life tightly, to bite off a larger piece. And it worked splendidly! When Friday came, he identified people like himself around him—the same tooth-bearing creatures as he. Many of the tooth-bearing ones bit better. Some even nibbled at his portion. Some gazed hungrily at him too, wanting to devour him as well. Before he could be frightened by his observation, Saturday arrived. On Saturday he did not crawl. On Saturday he did not walk. On Saturday he did not run. He lay wounded. Weakened by bites all over his body. The tooth-bearing ones had devoured him. The earth receded from his field of vision and all earthly things with it. The earth was beneath him. He lay upon it. Before him was Heaven. He saw and noticed that Heaven was larger and wider than earth. Heaven was different from earth. He wanted to run, walk, or even crawl toward Heaven, as on Monday of his life he crawled toward earth, but could not. Tragedy. His teeth fell out. He waited. This time new ones did not grow. It became indifferent to him. He no longer wanted to bite. He looked to Heaven. He wanted to return to Monday and relive his Week of Life with this new orientation toward Heaven. "I want" no longer worked. He saw the sunset. He understood that his Saturday was ending forever… He had crawled in the wrong direction. He had walked in the wrong direction. He had run in the wrong direction. Heaven called to him, but his Week of Life had already passed. In the final moment of existence he comprehended two new words: "I repent!" Wings! He felt wings within himself. He directed his weakened gaze into the expanse of Heaven, and did not crawl, did not walk, did not run—he flew… Sunday came. Somewhere someone else was born, to live their own Week. 01.07.2016
