Year: 2024

她站在时间的断崖上，身后是燃烧的旗帜与沉默的墓碑，面前是一片无法标注的地图。有人说那叫“历史的正确之路”。 她低头，只看见脚下的石头刻着不同名字——胜利者、逃亡者、耕种者、叛徒——石头并不争吵，只在风中被沙粒慢慢抹去。她继续前行，因为路径从未明确，它总在脚步落下时才出现。 当一个文明试图通过刻在石头上的分类来定义历史时，它是否意识到，那些未被记录的身体，仍在地下持续行军。 She stands at the edge of time, behind her the burning flags and silent gravestones; before her, a map with no names. Some call it “the right side of history.” She looks down and sees only stones beneath her feet, carved with different names—victor, fugitive, farmer, traitor—the … Read more

清晨，窗外寒风拍打窗棂，我裹在被窝中，半梦半醒。耳塞仍堵着耳朵，隔绝喧嚣，却挡不住寒意的渗透。揉眼摘下耳塞，鼻腔一阵胀痛袭来，我本能地擤了鼻涕——那一瞬，耳中轰然作响。 世界像被轻轻拨动，天花板倾斜，地面起伏。眩晕袭来，胃翻腾，寒气刺入鼻腔，诱出呕意。静止的物体仿佛开始旋转，我瘫在床上，只能等待这突如其来的漩涡平息。 In the early morning, cold wind lashes the windowpanes outside, i lie curled under the covers, drifting between dream and wakefulness. Earplugs still block my ears, shutting out the world’s noise, but not the creeping chill. Rubbing eyes, i remove the plugs—instantly, a pressure flares in my sinuses, … Read more

铁轨开始流泪，泪水是热的，划过金属的每一寸皮肤，带出焦味与光的残骸。车厢在震颤，像时间把自己咀嚼后又吐回轨道。 有人伸手去摸屏幕，指尖只抓住一片裂纹的余热，像是试图回忆一个已经消磁的信号。声音不是失去，而是溶解，被车尾拖成一道不规则的波形，在骨头里回响。 每一次震动都从脚底穿透骨髓，我们无法站稳，身体像泡沫悬浮在加速中。指针不在了，只有跳动的光，像心脏在错位中持续发光，却不再跳动。 屏幕的尽头不是影像，而是一种灼烧感，一种语言在腐蚀中脱落的味道。我们不知道驶向何方，只有铁的节奏将我们一节节推出身体的边界，速度使我们彼此失明。 The rails are weeping—their tears are hot, tracing every inch of metal skin, leaving behind the scent of burning and the residue of fractured light. The carriage trembles as if time chews and spits itself back onto the tracks. Someone reaches for the screen—fingertips meet only … Read more

有人一毛不拔，有人立字据欠款五万……有人因为几十元，砍死身边的人；有人放弃追索，只为给那人留存一条仅有的生路。 Some people are miserly to the extreme, while others sign IOUs for debts of fifty thousand… Some would kill those close to them over a few dozen yuans(￥), while others would forgo pursuing repayment just to leave the person a slim chance of survival.