Аудиоряд из короткометражного мультфильма по книге Шона Тана "Потерянная Штука".

The Lost Thing. 

So you wanna hear a story? Well, I used to know a whole lot of pretty interesting ones. Some of them so funny you’d laugh yourself unconscious; others, so terrible you’d never want to repeat them. But now I can’t remember any of those. So maybe I’ll just tell you about the time I found that lost thing.

This all happened many summers ago, down on the beach. I was, as usual, working tirelessly on my bottle-top collection, at least until I saw the thing.  It sure wasn’t doing much. It just sat there, with a really weird look about it. You know, a sad, lost, sort of look. Nobody else seemed to notice it was there. They’re all too busy doing other stuff, I guess.

Hello?

It turned out to be really friendly, and I played with the thing the most of the afternoon. It was quite fun. Yet the whole time I couldn’t help feeling that something wasn’t quite right. As the hours slouched by, it seemed less and less likely that anyone [bad word] to take the thing home. Soon, there was no denying the unhappy [bad word]  it was lost.

I asked a few people if they knew anything about it. I took the lost thing over to Pete’s place. Pete has an opinion on just about everything.

Cool. He said.

Pete didn’t know what the thing was exactly, but he said ‘Well it always does that all physical manifestations could be identified empirically through careful observation, calibrated measurement and controlled experimentation. In the end, Pete just [bad word]  He didn’t think the Lost Thing came from anywhere, and didn’t belong anywhere either. Some things are like that, he said, they are just plain lost.

There was nothing left to do but take the lost thing home with me. As for my parents, well I already knew that mom would be concerned about how filthy its feet were, that dad would be worried about all sorts of strange diseases. They both just want me to take it back to where I found it.

But it’s lost, I said.

Not that made any difference. I decided to hide the thing in the back shed, at least until I figure out what to do next. I mean I couldn’t just leave it wandering the streets. The Lost Thing seemed happy then, but I sure couldn’t keep it in the shed forever. Mom or dad could eventually notice it when they came out looking for a hammer or something. It was a real dilemma.

Are you finding that the order of day-to-day life is unexpectedly [bad word]  Do you suffer from unclaimed property? Objects without name? Troublesome artifacts of unknown origin? Things that just don’t belong? Don’t panic! We’ve got a pigeon hole to stick it in, the federal department of odds and ends.

The next morning we caught a tram all the way into the city. We arrived to the tall gray building with no windows. It smelled like disinfectant.

Um… I have a lost thing. I called to the receptionist.

Fill in the forms, she said.

I was looking around for a desk, when I suddenly felt something touch my elbow. And then there was a tiny voice.

If you really care about that thing, you shouldn’t leave it here. This is a place for forgetting, leaving behind. Here, take this.

Ah… cheers, I said.

You shouldn’t leave it here.

It was some kind of sign, I guess. Not very important looking, but it did seem to point somewhere. Eventually we found what seem to be the right place in a dark little gap of some anoymous little street. The kind of place you’d never know existed unless you are actually looking for it.

I still think about that lost thing from time to time, expecially when I see something out of the corner of my eye that doesn’t quite fit. You know, something with a weird, sad, lost, sort of look. I see that kind of thing less and less these days. Maybe there aren’t many lost thing around any more, or maybe, maybe I just stop noticing, too busy doing other stuff, I guess.