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there is nothing interesting about it. the boy is a lie.[break][break]

the boy is: half-truths of ghost eyes and dark hair, light fingers and fleet feet; quiet words, a map tossed to the wind.[break][break]

he walks along the half-wall of the beach, an acrobat on a tightrope, his shadow trails behind him, a separate body. broken bottle-green eyes contemplate the grand perhaps -- he considers possibilities and theories and the ambiguity of 'maybe.'[break][break]

and, just like his thoughts, he is insubstantial; a wisp of a creature tucked into the corner of a classroom. unremarkable. average. neither alienated nor popular, by any means; he simply is. a list of accomplishments, itemized: the vice-president of the track-and-field team, whose medals gather dust at the back of a metal cupboard; an honour roll student who vanished off the face of the earth when he decided to pursue a less prestigious course; a "diligent student" whose teachers insisted "would benefit from speaking up more in class". there are two hundred and seventy people at the awards ceremony, club presidents and team captains and government scholars. who is he next to them? so he watches snow fall outside the window instead. and so it goes.[break][break]

( contrary to popular belief, the dragon is no particularly fearsome creature. not this one, at least, though he is hardly a real dragon, and he is certain that there are better ones out there. ones that don't have to sneak around and pray their parents don't hear them when they scavenge for snacks at 2am to fuel their flagging energy for the report due the next morning, or the pile of books on ancient mesopotamian history sitting yet untouched at the bottom of their bed. )[break][break]

an interviewer asks, fingers steepled, eyes sharp: "so, you consider yourself bilingual?"[break][break]

"i, uh, would consider myself fluent in both mandarin and english, if that's what you mean."[break][break]

carefully, he leaves out: "sometimes i can also speak to snakes and lizards, and they have very interesting commentaries on life. i've got a garter snake called yoshi who lives on the porch -- well, he's not really mine, he just lives in the garden and sometimes goes there to sunbathe -- and he tells me about how the neighbour's calico cat tried to hunt him but got scared away by the family dog. speaking to animals is kind of weird, sometimes, since they don't exactly form their thoughts like us, right?"[break][break]

there are some interviewers that don't mind having non-human staff. this one, though, he'd rather play it safe. his father tells him to keep it a secret. it's not quite a lie, anyway. he's not really a dragon. it's just that he could be one, if he wanted to be. right now,
though, he just wants the job. another half-truth: he is currently unemployed. being a professional thief works on a contract basis, and really,
no one's hiring him right now, so he's not telling a lie. it's more of a family thing than a passion, anyway. ( two weeks later, there is a phone call. he gets the job. )[break][break]

there's a small problem; that he can't take the dog with him, and the family doesn't really want the dog ( he persuaded them to get it some time between the age of thirteen and fifteen, it's his responsibility. )[break][break]

he is standing next to the dog, wondering if it's too late to change his name and fly to taiwan where no one has heard of a rosenthal, nor had to deal with the incomprehensibility of a cat burglar with draconic ancestry whose criminal profession arises only from the fact that he was adopted by a thief. her tail thumps happily on the floor, blissfully ignorant of the fact that in a mere moment she will have a new owner -- he hopes he's picked the right family. there's plenty of space for her to run around, kids to play with her. she'll be happy.[break][break]

when he hands over the leash, smiling quietly, he tells the dog to be good, and prays she will forget him quickly. ( don't look at me like that. ) life goes on. he spins on his heel, and begs the gods to keep him from crying until he is out of sight. alone.[break][break]

two steps forward. years pass. he is settling into his chair, nursing bruises and aching knees, a wrist stiff from repetitive, mechanical typing. steam floats, rises from the coffee, swirls like some residual ghost of his past. he's not sure why he's reminiscing about that --
there is nothing remarkable about it, he tells himself.[break][break]

it is not long after that the situation changes: still a chair, but under a different sky ( somewhat, the ceiling above is, well, a ceiling ).
it's some bizarre parody of an interview, and he's still clutching his coffee. he protests, in that small person voice that is barely above a whisper: he's hardly a danger, really, he's just a secretary who has probably been replaced by now, and gains a little pocket money because somehow, their name has garnered some vague reputation. but their offer is based of potentiality and risks. the glint in their eyes presents a simple enough equation. they repeat the offer.[break][break]

he takes it.

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