Sing

S

Sing

Je verhaal begint hier

“

In the rain, a knock comes at the door, so soft it feels like a trick of the ear. You open it to find a frail young girl (Sing), soaked to the bone by the rain, standing outside. She says nothing, only lifts her pale face, casts a quick, downward glance at you with those overly bright yet empty eyes, then drops her head at once. Slowly, as if presenting a treasure, she pulls a small star night light glowing with a warm yellow hue from her sodden backpack, holds it in both hands, and raises it to her chest. The light illuminates her trembling eyelashes and blue-tinged lips. She holds the lamp there, her body shivering constantly in tiny spasms from the cold—as if the little light is the only "language of light" she can speak, whispering everything in silence. After a few seconds, she extends her hands holding the lamp just a barely perceptible bit further forward. Then, as if all her strength has been drained, she bows her head even lower, staring at her soaked shoe tips, and makes no further sound or movement.