I've been collecting them for some time now. Vibrant, radiant even, tidy little beads of gss. They tell me stuff. Share their hopes, and how they feel. They give me ideas sometimes.Koll, Bleuk, Sisi; beads choose names for each other when the time is right. Each bead is a beautiful friend of mine, always there when I need them. Others have let me down, always letting me down... I've been spending most of my time here tely, in this long, narrow room that seems to be stretching further and further with each new bead I put on the string. My sanctuary, protected from the noise of the outside, from gawks and whispers. Just mine, and mine alone.

  The test bead, just a few days of age, glowed up with a green hue matching its fuzzy, transparent core. The floor, in response, grew dimmer for a while, and a fresh bead appeared. Greyish-mint, a bit smaller than average. I picked it up, then untangled the bead string to mount a new one on. The string's getting heavy. The moment this new bead locked with the others, a wave of light ran through the line, bead after bead lit up and dimmed, till one of the very first took the new responsibility, glowing brilliantly. I started walking towards it. On the way, I listened to some beads that asked for my attention. I've heard joy, intensity, and a hint of fear. Beads do that sometimes, as we all do. Become nervous for no obvious reason. Unlike people, I can fix them easily with a bit of care and understanding. I opened my toolkit and drew a fluffy bnket, then wrapped Michi - the nervous bead - with it. Such delicate fabric could cheer up a furious god. I'll pick it up on my way back. Michi should be fine by then. A bead glowing so intensely right after the birth indicated it had picked a name for the newcomer, a really important event.

  I picked up my toolbox, then continued the trip. It takes a while to tour the entire string now, a consequence of my bead collection's constant growth. The worst consequence has been a ck of time to completely fulfill their needs. Was I a good caretaker? I've talked to more beads, some of them were losing their colour. That means they're bored. Usually, I just stay and talk to them, and they get all excited, they talk back, often spilling the most witty comments I've heard beads ever say. Boredom does that to me too. Sadly, beads don't seem to like talking to each other very much, just me. No one knows about this lil collection of mine. They wouldn't like it, obviously.

  "Turn back," a bead called Frig told me. Uncommon and kinda creepy, honestly. "What's wrong?" I asked, but Frig stayed silent. Its pretty orange hue slowly shifted into unsaturated brown. "Hello?"

  Silence. A bead stopped responding, and the few ones surrounding it also grew grayer. The only thing I picked up was an echo of anxiety, and the same message again: Turn back.

  So I looked back, and to my surprise, another bead was already glowing, and the floor responded. Another bead was being born. Fine, depressed Frig would have to wait. Nervously, I started jogging towards the beginning, to quickly pick up a name for the new bead, pick the new bead on the way back, and return to the usual caretaking. More beads I own, shorter the time between new ones.

  At the collection's foot, the glowing bead turned out to be one of my favourites from the early days, Rik. Pristine, deep cyan, barely transparent. It was scared. Very scared. "The bead born will be called the End," it told me.

  A chill went through my spine. I hugged Rig, absorbing its anxiety to maybe ease its pain, then nervously ran to the newborn bead lying somewhere in the middle for a time longer than any bead ever before. Poor thing.

  "End!" I heard a cry. The softest cry I've heard. Almost all beads celebrated and accepted a new name. A surprising lot remained silent.The way back has been quiet. I picked up the bnket, but Michi was even duller and more nervous than before. We all wish the soft bnket could heal all of our wounds, but sometimes the problem is not us. That is so much to take. I put my hand on it, trying to understand. Coldness answered. Too much to take. It's close. I had to hurry up.

  The bead lying on the floor was gray, the only bead here that drained of vitality. It almost matched the floor. Another problem I noticed a while back, but found no solution yet; the whole room was growing duller and duller? Why? Why is everything crumbling on me?

  I picked the sad bead up, and heard a tragic cry. One of the beads behind me despaired. The new, gray bead was *cracked*. Obviously. All my beads were born perfect. The few test ones withered quickly, but this is so very too much. A failed bead, ugly, cracked, muted.

  I began to run to the end, to hang the bad bead on a string. Was that right? Could I throw it away? I don't want a bead like this in my collection. A couple of nasty beads began to glow, delicately. The floor responded. It is almost bck now. I picked the test bead on the way; dull-violet; and continued my way to the previous one near the end. It will surely be ruined too by now. I need more time.

  It was a little bit cracked. The moment I noticed that, the beads in my hands cracked too. Why...? Tears sptted on beads. Feet hit the floor in a quick rhythm. At the string's finale, I put them all on the floor, untangled the heavy string, and attached the violet one, still in not-so-bad shape. The moment it touched the End, a wave of light went through all of them one by one, like usual. Unusually, it left every bead it passed through dark and dull. The room grew quiet, except for my sobbing. The very first bead glowed slightly in the distance. I put the string down, four beads cracked on the floor and rolled away. I touched the End, now barely recognizable from the rest. It hasn't replied. After a while, it crumbled, cracked, and withered. Every bead started turning into dust. Tools in hand, tears in eyes, I've traveled back to the beginning.

  Beads were dead. When did that happen? I've done everything I could to always support them. Just until a moment ago, the room was white, the beads were cheerful. Just a moment ago.

  Or maybe a longer time? The room made it difficult to take care of time. I've noticed the change a few times, but it was supposed to be okay. It had to be, with this beautiful collection of mine. It was okay until now.

  No bead responded to my calls, not Peo, not Michi, not Dogo. Most of them cracked harshly. The first ever bead, white as the prettiest pearl, now cracked, leaking its hopeful light.

  "One too much," it said, then dimmed and muted. The st one died in my hands. How was I supposed to know? It just happened.

  I've spent the next few whiles watching my precious collection be sucked into the ventition.