The Artist Child

—I want to draw the sky. —Draw it, my darling. —I have. —And why do you spread the colors this way? —Because the sky has no edges. . . . —I want to draw the earth. —Draw it, my darling. —I have. —And who is this? —She is my friend. —And where is the earth? —In her handbag. . . . —I want to draw the moon. —Draw it, my darling. —I can't. —Why? —The waves shatter it continuously. . . . —I want to draw paradise. —Draw it, my darling. —I have. —But I don't see any colors. —It is colorless. . . . —I want to draw the war. —Draw it, my darling. —I have. —And what is this circle? —Guess. —A drop of blood? —No. —A bullet? —No. —Then, what? —The button that turns off the lights.