In the springtime, after the clouds of winter and before the storms of summer, when the skies were clear and the waters still, Abel went star-catching.

The other villagers thought him daft, of course. Star-catching was a myth, they cried. Lago das Estrelas held stars in name only, the lights on the water mere reflections, not celestial beings with wish-granting powers. Only children believed otherwise.

But Abel believed, and not because of some childlike naivety or addled senses. Abel believed, quite simply, because he was desperate. 

Desperate to find out why his body became weaker, not stronger, as he grew from boy to man. Desperate to follow in the footsteps of his friends, who left him behind to build homes and families of their own. Desperate for the town doctor to meet his questions with more than a sigh.

Desperate for the power to change.

So, tonight, as on every clear night, Abel's belief sent him out onto Lago das Estrelas, jar traps suspended over the sides of his boat, to catch a star. 

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The hours on the lake passed by slowly. Abel's ever-present aches cried for his attention as he crouched in his boat, but he dared not shift position lest ripples disturb the still pattern of the reflected stars, scare them back to the heavens.

As the light of the moon started to dim and night fade away, Abel despondently considering going home early. What did it matter, he thought, another year without a wish. Another year of pain, another year alone. He was used to it; he'd be fine.

But there was a burning pressure behind Abel's eyes that called such thoughts lies. His vision blurred, creating a false sense of movement in the lights on the lake.

No, not false. Abel blinked his eyes rapidly, dispelling his tears. Most of the reflections coalesced back into little blobs of light, but one did not. It rippled against the light current of the water, bobbing this way and that, almost lost-looking, as though surprised to find itself swimming in water and not sky, as though it were...

A star.

Abel slowly bent over the edge of his boat, keeping his eyes on the star, slipping his hand below the waterline to grip his jar there. The star danced closer, back and forth, unaware of his little glass jar, of Abel's hands reaching down, lid at the ready, wish a breath behind closed lips. It zipped over the top of the jar.

With a yank and a splash, Abel pulled the jar up and slammed the lid on. He hastily turned himself back into his boat, muscles twinging in protest, and held the wet jar up to the light of the moon to peer in.

Amid cloudy lake water and floating detritus was a small, shiny ball of white light.

Abel had done it. He had caught a star, earned a wish. He saw his future now: a house, a healer, anything and everything he ever wanted was literally in his grasp.

The star seemed to realize it's predicament and sank to the bottom of the jar, light dimming. When it became still, Abel felt a buzzing in his ears, tightness in his chest. His breath fell short, and he quite suddenly felt afraid, paranoid. It was overwhelming, this new feeling, and yet somehow familiar. It was sharp, skittish, almost painful in its intensity. What was it? What was it? All Abel could think was that he would do anything to make this feeling stop, whatever one wished.

Abel gasped. This feeling was not his, he realized. It was the star's, scared and trapped and willing to do anything for Abel in exchange for release.

Willing to grant him a wish.

Pushing aside the star's feelings, Abel asserted his own, clearing his throat. "I wish," he said.

The star came to life at his words, hope igniting between it and Abel, begging him to finish, its desperation clear.

"I—" But the words suddenly choked in Abel's throat, and a horror that was entirely his own stole over him. 

He knew why the star's feelings felt so familiar. It was the paralyzing fear every time he thought of his future, the hopelessness every time the doctor left him.

It was desperation.

What was he doing? Abel thought savagely. Hunting and trapping and terrifying an innocent creature? Putting it through the very same torture that led him out to the lake night after night? Abel would not wish his pain on anyone, and yet, for a wish, he had done so.

Abel felt sick, and before he could think, he unscrewed the lid from the jar, upending it into the water. The star plopped down, remaining where it was as though confused at its sudden change in situation. Abel leaned over the side of his boat, facing the star, and said,

"I wish...you the best, estrelinho."

The star held in the water, a confused and small hope buzzing between man and star, and then it abruptly vanished, winking away as it returned to the sky, leaving the lake water dark, and Abel to stare numbly at his reflection, a man broken and alone, uncertain and scared, a man so very like a star.

And stars had the power to change.

Quietly lifting his paddle, Abel started rowing back to shore. Maybe, he thought as he rowed, he'd go to town the next day. He could sell his boat and use the coin to send inquiries to doctors at the university. Maybe he could ask around for help to build a house for himself, something simple and accommodating. Meet new people, make new friends. 

Yes, Abel thought. That was what he would do. He set his paddle to the water with more gusto, unbothered by the ripples and splashes disturbing the lake, sending lights twinkling in his wake, winking out of existence one by one as Abel left them and Lago das Estrelas behind.