dhibooks Chapter 1
Chapter 1
It was a mud-yellow seagull with long wings, its body tilted, its slender claws stretched out, and its head held high on a marble seat.A teacher who just graduated from the art department of a certain university and has an artistic temperament highly praised her for capturing the moment when the bird was about to relax after being exhausted. The slightly drooping wings and the forward-facing head and neck showed a certain sadness.She didn't correct the teacher, what she made was actually a bird that was just about to take off. In a natural science magazine, she had seen a photo of a silhouette of a black bird spreading its wings against the golden and purple morning glow. in her head.But she didn't say anything, and the more she studied it, the more she felt that the pair of wings contained not strength but fragility.The teacher's opinion was indeed much more correct than her immature conception.
During the rainy season, the musty air spreads from outside the screen window into the house, and the pattering rainwater drips on the gray-green mango leaves day and night, making people noisy.Absorbing too much water, the clay bird gradually lost its original handsome lines, showing a bloated and aging fatigue, and could no longer carry her to wander in the boundless sky.After a moment's hesitation, she began to break the clay piece by piece from the wire-wrapped support.At first she blamed her own cruelty with sentimental feelings, but soon she tasted the unprecedented pleasure from this cruel destruction. Stanley blinked moss-green eyes and looked at her sadly: she committed the first atrocity against conscience in her life!Since she made it herself, she has the right to destroy it!She smiled happily, and as she held the heavy, sticky lump of mud in her palm, she saw her glowing face reflected in the glass window.
She considered using this mud ball to make something else.At first she pinched a round teddy bear with round limbs and a round naughty nose, but with a dull smirk on her face, and put it under the desk lamp, it seemed too childish, she did not hesitate rubbed it loose.There is an idea that is about to break out of the shell surging in her throat. She should try to make some abstract so-called works of art, like the bronze sculpture that is said to be worth 12 yuan in the porch of the second uncle's house, although she still does not understand a twisted piece of art. Why is a limp washboard called art, but at least it is much simpler than being a seagull.She found a short round stick and flattened the mud ball like dough, then cut it into several long and thin strips with a pencil knife, and coiled them layer by layer on the short stick.She's as focused as a sculptor on her job, but isn't nearly as happy when she's finished, disappointed to find that it looks exactly like a mini mop soaked in mud.It would not have been reckless to destroy the only possible masterpiece of her life, and yet the bird was lost in the lifeless mud.
Xiang Ling recalled this little incident when she was 16 years old, as if it was a warning. When she looked at her fiancé in disgust while rubbing his swollen belly under his sweatshirt and bragging about how he signed two big deals, the only The mud bird flapped its huge wings and flew over like a dark cloud of accumulated rain.The wedding was about to be held in a month, and she didn't have the courage to end it all, as decisively as she destroyed the only masterpiece in her life.
The fitting mirror is inlaid with an oil painting frame full of golden grapes. The main character in the painting is her in white gauze. The fiancé in the distance is a vague signature of the author. Without his valuable seal, no matter how beautiful the bride is, she is just a magazine Fakes shown above.He lowered his voice to talk on the mobile phone, and his whole body twitched every once in a while, deep laugh lines formed on his royal blue shirt.He used to call her every day, telling jokes to make her happy, but she never wondered if he also called her behind another woman's back.
She was jealous in her heart, but she couldn't say it, because she was not fully prepared to meet his sudden honesty.Besides, this burst of jealousy reassured her. It was a proof of her love for him, as necessary and impractical as a jewelry appraisal certificate.
Marriage is also necessary, and time will not allow her to refuse this fleeting last chance.But she neither knows nor is interested in exploring this soon-to-be husband. His position is like that of a ticket cutter at a station. Everyone has to take the train, and everything she did before the age of 28: getting a college diploma in a daze, several ambiguous unrequited loves and being loved, and receiving a meager salary in exchange for time in the accounting department of an insurance company are all In order to pass the long wait, waiting for the life that is about to start after getting on this train.The train was about to leave, but she was still lingering on the platform, trying to hear another faint and indistinguishable call beyond the piercing siren, vaguely heard that it was her, but it didn't seem like it was her.
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