SP | Short Story - "Kidnapping" (III)

The distance from the stop sign to the exit of the MRT station was about two minutes. After the music in his ears stopped abruptly, it seemed too extravagant for him to take two more steps.

For souls kidnapped by different expectations of ordinary people, music can stretch and last in time, becoming the only salvation for his soul. He took off his earphones and spat at the side of the road again. The young man pretended to be an elder with an old-fashioned attitude.

He used to be very sensitive to other people's eyes. If the false increase of age can prove to him that he is different from others, it may become a source of his little sense of security.

He had to start listening carefully to how his surroundings wrote the world's song, learning to face the inevitable that would continue to reappear strongly before his eyes without needing any certification from him.

He once again confirmed the status defined by the numbers on the earphones, expecting that less than 10% of the remaining power could last longer than expected. It feels like the whole world is against you.

The noise in his heart was like an old TV that was broken. The elder thought that a few hard taps would stop the white noise from continuing for a moment. He followed the example of the adults he despised and patted his head, hoping to hear no more noise.

Get on the escalator and watch the continuous cycle of the stairs turn and turn, turn and turn, and everyone is stepping on the metal plates to climb up or down. Although they seem to be opposite to each other, they still turn and turn, turn and turn, time goes on and on. Passing creates a repetition of overlapping steps in extremely similar steps.

For the first time, he felt that he belonged to a sequence other than missing Xiaofang. He suddenly raised his head. He looked at the dead gray reinforced concrete ceiling. There seemed to be some inconspicuous outlines. As the collision he heard became louder and louder, The lines are also clearer.

He continued to watch, remembering that the tattoo on Xiaofang's chest was no longer covered by the necklace, as if he could see it more and more clearly. Just before he was about to recognize how the trajectory of the streamline was interpreted in the void, the escalator reached the plane, causing him to stumble and interrupt his thoughts, almost falling.

He then walked into the MRT carriage and listened to the voice broadcast at the arrival station describing the daily routine he was used to. He was already able to recite the order of the most frequently used Bannan Line stations.

Many times, he thought that the foreign language translation of the station name as "Sun Yat-sen Memorial Hall" did not match the intuitive translation he had heard, and it was still what he cherished—the line that led him to be kidnapped, an unshakable routine and affirmation.

He sometimes felt that his obsession with the divine sanctity of the sequence had been tainted by the sudden change, the station name recited by the broadcast system before he knew the name was changed.

He never thought that anyone could take precedence over this unchanging law, a new name that could not be easily remembered and used skillfully, reminding him once again that it was an uncontrollable expectation that he could master certain rules, and the only thing he could do was Keep listening, keep looking at the tattoo that seems to never be seen clearly.

When the MRT arrived at the station, he got out of the car mechanically and stood sluggishly in the center of the hall. After he lost the broadcast system that could prove his continued existence, he forgot what he wanted to do when he came to the original destination, he forgot Knowing the name of the stop sign, he did not turn to look at the answer or search for clues beside him to deduce the answer.

Instead, he raised his head again, imagining extending from his starting point to the skyline and the zenith, forming one intricate network line after another. Link, there may be a chance to generate a shortcut between yourself and Xiaofang.

He does have a good impression of Xiao Fang, but in the repeated and mixed daily life, he doesn't think about this person often.

Maybe this person has not established a relationship with him in the social software, so he will not see Xiaofang frequently. He longs to be able to grasp the rules and principles of the operation of the relationship, and from then on, he can use this general principle to face anyone.

"The subconscious still doesn't seem to give up searching. Indeed, there is no need to write so many words to explore the relationship between people. Perhaps, the true meaning of Dazhiruoyu can be achieved simply."

He muttered to himself, spoke big words to himself, and never cared how others looked at him.

Everyone emits a shimmer, a light with no wavelength, no matter how divergent, the gradient from red to purple will eventually become a white light one day, illuminating each other's lives.

He finally remembered the treasure that had been hidden for a long time, opened the jewelry box again, and the flash reminded him of himself.

The next moment, he came back to his senses. He had already returned to the convenience store near his home, without any expectations, he did not go in and order an iced latte.

He worked hard to write novels at night, and sedated all the melancholy with caffeine. This time, he finally summoned the courage to say to Xiaofang: The tattoo is very beautiful.

(Finish)

postscript

This is the last of a long-lost attempt to write a trilogy of short stories, the first two of which are related articles. The most beautiful magic of words and music is that everyone brings their own stories and collides with other people's stories to create ever-changing sparks.

It's quite different from the usual writing style. In this state, what I wrote, I found out that it was a little more divergent than I imagined. It is also because of this that I rarely write. For me, it is relatively simple to be able to "control" the words to express the thoughts in my mind, to express how each stage and detail is thought.

When writing a novel, my thinking will be in another state (I don’t know if anyone else understands what I am talking about) It is purely about what pictures, moods, feelings, and perceptions appear in my mind, and I write it down, like this That's it.

For a while, I often heard people say that my writing is very good. Every time I heard this kind of response, I always wondered if the other party misunderstood something, or he just didn’t understand it well and didn’t know what to say, so I said this as a feedback? But, taking a step back, I never wanted my words to be " easy to understand ".

In short, thanks to everyone who read this novel, I will continue to write in the future, no matter how turbulent the recent turmoil in Matt City has made my favorite creator ( one of ) plan to change his face and use a different mood again to Matters.

I am still grateful to myself, and I always write for no reason, only for myself, and be a real person in the text.