Great Novelist

Last meeting (1)

You hear a bird cry from the tree.

He sat on the grassy floor. A clear plastic bookshelf and manuscript were placed on the surface of a bumpy rock. It was a great writing place.

Cool temperatures were conveyed from the ground. An ant passes right next to it. You touch the dirt, and there are thin particles between your nails. A familiar sensation. I liked it.

I sat still and thought about the topic. Teacher’s Grace, Travel, Autumn. What should I use? Teacher’s Grace, Travel, Autumn.

I have thought about three topics for a long time. I didn’t want to choose any topics

In fact, there was something I wanted to write more than this.

The end of the next chapter. That’s what you really want.

I put the pen down and pulled myself together. I didn’t grab the torso that was going backwards.

I saw a wide blue sky. I feel good about the cold energy all over me. It was like being underwater. I could feel the children’s eyes looking at me, but I didn’t wake up because of them.

The next one is in shape. A mother appears and a child comes out. Young mothers and young sons.

The speaker is an 18-year-old son. The story begins when my mother confessed to being pregnant. Suddenly a brother. The only thing I could be sure of was that it wasn’t the same father.

18 years old, closer to an adult than a child. The speaker was neither as innocent as a child, nor as proficient as an adult. He knows that his mother is pregnant and asks:

“Did you feel good? ”

The young mother smiled and replied.

“Just as I had you. ”

As the mother’s stomach swells, her son grows. Growing up. Have a cigarette and drink with her.

He meets a variety of people. As he gains experience, her stomach swells.

It swells and swells. It can no longer swell.

That was the last time.

The wind blows. Your hair shakes. Light descends through the leaves. I was blinded.

I need to see you again, and I need to ask.

I closed my eyes slowly.

Bricks. Telescopes. Hills.

The space where I met her was static. No one cried and no one screamed. Looking down at the end of the hill, you hear a buzz next to you.

It was her.

“Hello.”

She says, a slight sag.

“Hello.”

She was beautiful, and extraordinary. The soft chest and no swelling belly flashed between the white dress. She looks at her bloodshot eyes and says,

“This is what you look like. ”

Two dots under the eyes. Thin forearms, thin lips. It was clearly in shape.

She laughs. Her eyes and lips move slightly.

“What do you want to do with me? ”

When my mouth opened, I saw a red tongue.

“It’s too soon. Slow down a little. ”

“I miss my child. ”

He saw her ship. There was only a little fat on the belly. Every time she breathes, her chest moves up and down.

“May I call your son? ”

“No.”

“I’d be disappointed to hear from my son. ”

“It’s okay. He’s strong. ”

She’s strong. At her words, he nods. She was someone who had never resected herself. You never stop like a stone rolling down a hillside.

It was the same when she was pregnant with the first child.

“The first time I drank was when I made love to a man. The first time I smoked was when I kicked a man. ”

“I haven’t hung up since. ”

“Yeah, but he’s growing up well. I was born in the world, and now I’m an adult, and I come out drinking and smoking. He’s a strong kid.”

The wind blows. The white dress shakes. I can see her short, thick toes.

“Why are you barefoot? ”

“I don’t think I need it. ”

“It’s dangerous.”

“It’s okay. I’m not going to get hurt. ”

She steps forward. I felt threatened.

“Are you gonna kill me? ”

He did not answer. I haven’t decided yet. He hesitated at the end.

“I don’t want you to die. ”

“Really?”

“Yes.”

I didn’t want her to die.

“I want to die. ”

She bows. It’s a cliff. It’s so high that you can’t see the end.

“My child is dead. ”

He was angry with his bold tone.

“You knew. ”

“Okay.”

“You killed him. ”

She looks back. Eyes meet. We grumble at each other.

“You’re the one who let go. ”

“I didn’t save anyone. ”

“I didn’t run for it. ”

“There were people down there. ”

“You said you were sick of it. ”

She shuts up. Standing barefoot on the edge of a cliff, you look down.

“I miss my child. ”

This time there was a strong wind. Her long hair flutters without cause.

“You won’t meet him. ”

“I made him wait too long. ”

“There’s no child down there. ”

She takes a step forward. It was empty.

“Will you forgive me?”

“You’re not going to beg. because they don’t have a lot of hair. ”

Nothing could stop her. She was like that. Finally, he called her.

“You’re going to regret this. ”

You stopped walking. You will. She said, “You know we’re going.”

She wants to regret it.

The wind blows harder. The vision is unstable. The world shakes. The wind blows beneath the cliff and slowly swallows her up. Fragments fell from the sky. The cliff is cracked. A drop of blood descends from her legs. The white dress gets wet in the rain.

“He’s a strong kid. He’ll be fine. ”

She throws. He ran to get her. But it’s too late. I look down at the end of the cliff. She’s already nowhere to be seen. In a crumbling world, he was alone.

“I’m not strong. ”

You hear voices behind you.

“I’m not strong, damn Mother. ”

He turns his head. It’s her son. He stands a little distance from the cliff. He never moved there.

“Are you crying?”

I asked him. He raised his head instead of answering. I see a dry face.

“Are you going to cry? ”

“I can’t cry. ”

“Why?”

“I’m alone. No one will listen to me anymore. ”

He stands at the end of the cliff, imitating her.

“I’m coming, too. ”

“Wait.”

Even before answering that, his body fell down. He does not set foot where he stands until the end.

Now that I’ve seen it.

I closed my eyes.

Squirt. Squirt.

At the sound of a distant cry, Lord wakes up. You see the woman passing by with the stroller across the boulder.

As I looked at the two of them getting further away, I slowly picked up the pen.

He wrote on the manuscript. It was not about the teacher’s grace, travel, or fall.

Next time, we can finish it.

He smiled deeply.

*

The park hosts the Tupperware competition. The children everywhere wrote their stories on the manuscript. They care about time, they care about content, and they fill out their manuscripts.

Heel-heel.

Such children sometimes looked at someplace. It was one of the many trails in the park. It is a road, but strangely no one passes by. Maybe it’s because of the huge rock that surrounds the path. Or maybe it’s the boy moving his hand with a fierce force with his manuscript on it.

Yes, where the children were looking, there was a boy.

I was frowning and filling the manuscript at a rapid rate. It was really fast. It was as fast as describing what I had memorized. Nothing seemed to interfere with him. Even the wind was quiet.

What are they writing? One child, who was holding the pen for a moment, did not overcome curiosity and approached him. As you step on the grass, you hear the sound of rocks and pens colliding more clearly. It was like a fight. It was like a play.

He stood right behind the boy’s back.

He didn’t react. The child only focuses. He feels his curiosity deteriorating.

I envy you.

He couldn’t write like a boy. The people who are approaching are concerned. I couldn’t stand the thought of people passing by writing as if they were watching elephants trapped in zoos.

The only thing that came to my mind was that it was bad, and even when I moved it onto paper, I lost color.

This one’s different.

I was writing without even noticing myself coming right behind me.

I can see the manuscript over his shoulder.

“Huh?”

Strange. This is not worth writing for a pertussis. This, this content. The child took a step forward to stop his hand without me even knowing it.

I tried to hold his hand.

“Sweetheart, don’t interrupt. ”

The child turned back, startled. Dark and long hair. An elegant voice, the wrinkles of the eye area, embracing traces of time. Her hand holding the umbrella. White dress.

She opens her mouth slowly.

“Why don’t you focus on writing your own. ”

The moment her eyes met, the child thought. I’ve been spotted. I’ve been spotted with this vile heart. He leaves, speechless and running away.

She was the only one standing beside him.

*

He did not think of anything else. All I could think about was her. Reach out and you’re caught. In my ears, I heard a baby crying. Even the ants crawling up the back of my feet, the sound of the leaves rubbing against me, could not disturb him.

As he was writing so smoothly, his hand suddenly stopped moving.

“Nothing.”

Nothing. Paper. I have finished my manuscript. I filled up the last compartment. I still want to write more stories. I have fewer words to say. He was anxious because his thirst did not quench.

He said, “How do I get paper?” That’s right. We need to get to headquarters. With a student ID, he quickly got up from his seat, remembering the student ID in his pocket.

As soon as I tried to run forward, someone spoke to me.

“You’re out of paper. ”

“Yes?”

“Do you want to use this? ”

The first thing I noticed when I turned my back on the voice I heard behind me was the white dress and the white sheep mountain. She laughs. The wrinkles around the eyes settled even more lovingly. The old woman tied her dark hair together as she was older was looking at him.

The place where she stood was beyond the rock he was writing on. That is, she stood alone when no one was going.

He realizes she’s looking at her writing. I didn’t notice.

She waves her arms. The sheets of paper that were in his hands ran with him. There was an old woman with a manuscript. He did not stop the memory of that familiar figure.

“Whitepaper. ”