In the heart of the Amazon rainforest, where the trees touched the sky and the sun danced on the river, there lived a girl named Luana.
She ran barefoot, feeling the earth’s pulse beneath her feet. The leaves whispered her name. The vines swayed with her, playful and free.
The highest branches called to her, where the clouds kissed the treetops. She followed butterflies, her steps so light that even the petals did not stir.
She listened to the howler monkeys calling through the canopy. She understood the chatter of the parrots and the murmur of the river below.
At night, Luana lay on the earth, warm and alive. The wind sang her to sleep, and the stars lit up her dreams.
Life in the Tribe
Luana was also part of a tribe.
She played with the children under the sun. They ran through the jungle, laughing and shouting. They climbed trees and chased each other through the undergrowth.
Sometimes, they fell and scraped their knees. Sometimes, they argued and shouted. Sometimes, they cried.
But they helped each other up. They hugged and made up. They shared their laughter, their tears, their fears.
They didn’t always agree, but they always stayed together.
They were like the jungle, wild and tangled, but one.
Luana never felt alone. She never felt apart. She never felt small.
But the one thing she could not do was call the fire.
Crossing the River
Her father was the one who could summon light. He spun the spindle against the board. Smoke curled, then flame leapt to life.
Luana tried. She spun the stick until her arms ached, her hands raw. But no flame came.
One night, as she sat by the fading embers, she saw smoke rising from across the water. It curled above, steady and strong.
She gathered two logs and climbed into her canoe. Guided by shimmering fireflies, she glided across the water, their light reflecting on the river’s surface.
Luana reached the far shore and followed them to a place where the trees stood apart.
There, in a clearing, she found a village.
The Village of Red Cloths
The people of the village moved swiftly, never stumbling, never straying.
Their lives seemed much more comfortable than life in the tribe.
But they all wore red cloths tied around their eyes, like blindfolds.
Luana’s heart skipped.
A boy her age stood by his dog, Totó, his wavy hair peeking from under his blindfold. He smiled when he saw her, his face bright and kind. “Look around. Here, we don’t need more wood.”
He reached into his pocket and pulled out another piece of cloth, just like his. “Everyone wears one. It helps us see the right way.”
Luana studied the cloth. It was soft and warm, the color of sunset.
She tied it loosely around her eyes.
For a moment, the world turned crimson, casting a soft glow over everything. She could still see Totó, Caio, and the people moving gracefully around her. It was the same world, but simpler.
Caio’s face brightened. “Good. Now you’re one of us.”
Life with the Blindfold
At first, there was no difference.
She played the same games with the village children.
They ran through the streets, laughing and shouting. They climbed walls, jumped from rooftops, and chased each other through the alleys.
But when someone fell, the others kept running. When someone argued, they turned away. When someone cried, they glanced away.
They hid their tears. They hid their fears. They hid their hearts. They didn’t take care of each other. They didn’t share their pain. They didn’t stay together.
Caio asked if something was wrong. Luana turned to him and realized he was completely crimson. His face, his hair, his clothes. Even Totó. Everything.
The blindfold only grew tighter.
So she tore it off, turned, and ran.
The Fire and the Anteater
Back in the tribe, by the light of the full moon, Luana stood before the logs.
She spun the spindle, the cloth tied around the wood.
This time, the flame leapt to life.
She watched it dance, free and wild.
A creature appeared before her, an anteater with a tail that shimmered in every color of the rainbow. Its eyes sparkled with ancient wisdom.
“No one has ever burned red cloth before,” the anteater said.
Luana gazed at the flame, her eyes bright. “I wish I could go back and show them there’s another way.”
The anteater’s eyes sparkled. “You can.”
He swiped his tail under her eyes, painting them crimson. “They would never be able to tell the difference.”
Luana touched her face, feeling the warmth of the paint.
She studied the fire, then turned toward the village across the river, her heart full of hope.
Luana picked up two logs, ready to cross the same river twice.
The End.
The Abstractionist’s Papers 