F.A. 2809/10th/Season of Watering Sky
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It was raining constantly at the time. Almost a season later, after the phantom of Fei’nen had become a well-known countryside strange tale. The owner of Star Eyes used this opportunity to make this place for collecting stories from every corner of this land. Passengers were allowed to post stories whatever they wanted on a wall at the bar downstairs, as if to make his turf like the rumoured underground literal club at the border town between Morve’len Guild’s territory and Fathiyeth Kingdom. But more public, and without control under a gang. (I only knew this rumoured existence due to that rich Morve’len merchant had spoken too much which she perhaps shouldn’t while being drunk)
As a reward for making the inn even more popular, he offered me quite a number of coins.
Getting bored by tons of stories about ghosts followed by the phantom trend, I discovered a mundane note accidentally, pinned at the most unnoticeable corner on the wall that I have to bend down to read it. It doesn’t even have a name on it, appeared to be someone just needing to release its regret without gaining a huge publicity to its private repentance. When finished reading the note, indeed. It’s just a regular record from an ordinary person, written in pithiness. Not much of dramatic, instead, a hidden but truest emotion a student could have.
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“Shall trees sway with the wind, how many half-withered leaves would fall heavily?”
At last, it was only a simple sentence like this she left to the club she had once posted her crafts regularly.
Do you believe in “talent”? It is something rather magical. It makes some individuals keen to sense more than the ordinary, having them doing tasks so easily which might in fact be extremely difficult. “Talent” is something I’d been craving for so long. But to perish that talent, there couldn’t be a more effortless task.
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By the time I knew her, she was already nothing of a beginner in writing. She had won some competitions held by schools and clubs, being elected as “Editor’s Pick” many times by the academy. I dare to say that she’s the most talented writer in the whole Fathiyeth Kingdom. Her writing style was quite flexible. It can be the most flourishing thing to trick one’s mind, it can be the most solid thing to root one’s heart. Her pen was made to capture the mystery and beauty in the land of eleven seasons to seize the conflict and depth of people’s minds. Poems, lyrics, novels… everything was as natural and beautiful as if it was from Fe’yar’’s blessing. It’s a real pity that I don’t have the right to share some crafts from her, it would certainly be disrespectful to her. All I could tell you with confidence is, she’s a splendid creator.
In retrospect, she definitely had been an enlightenment for my journey in writing years after. Of course, her level is still something I can’t reach even with years of training.
Our first encounter was in the club where she posted her writings . Perhaps I was one of the few people whom she could discuss her writing with. Therefore, she loved to pass everything she wrote to me.(without a doubt, especially those she had no confidence to publish. ) And I, as a faithful and trustworthy partner, shall respond to her as “reader’s advice”. Through time, our topic started to unlimit over her writing.
“Dream.” One day she passed me a draft, but clearly wasn’t requiring any advice this time. She had chosen the topic of the conversation before I had a chance to read it.
“Dream? Is it the theme of this one?”
“No.” She cut off harshly. ”This will be my last work, you keep it as a souvenir.”
It was the first time she complained about things to me which had nothing to do with her writings. There were conflicts within her family. It wasn’t something special to say. As many students would have suffered through should one determine to break the prosperous path their parents had built for them.
She grasped the hope of studying literature, obviously, whereas the gleam of her royal medical authority family couldn’t allow a fire of unreconciled shine within.
Our conversation continued for more than a year. And she was about to face the upcoming date of graduation exam of the academy. We both knew what it meant. The burden cast by her study kept her away from reaching the pen she once used to know. No space of her mind could spare for “unimportant” creation. It had been so long since the last time she shared with me her writing, let alone to revise and to post one to the club .
Eventually, after the exam, she made it to the top medical training centre in the kingdom. Nothing related to literature.
Destiny overcame the passionate seed once planted in her heart. She completed the mission her family granted her. With a high score, she made it perfectly. She told me about how pleasant her family was, whereas her tone lacked a genuine spark and heat. Imagine being at the border of later spring and early summer that should have been warm just fine, but the wind that breezed was a midwinter chillness, carving inches into your spine…
Perhaps the end of the entrance exam seemed like an end, a feather-swinged relief. But as a matter of fact, she didn’t throw herself back into the embrace of magical words. She started to bustle with reports and projects and more exams and experiments at the training centre. We met no more, only letters to keep us attached, but flooded with her weak complaints and any consolation I tried my best to tend.
“Do you still remember how to write?” I showed my worry to her someday.
“Maybe, only I don’t have time and motivation.” A simple sentence ended our long-last conversation. Not until seasons later for me to receive a letter from her again. But the cheer ended the moment I revealed the letter, helplessness was recognised. I put down the pen I had urgently picked up, spent several days mourning for something we had lost, and to convey an “appropriate” consolation avoiding mentioning her dream.
I took the life she couldn’t have the chance to realise, continuing to work on the field in master literal academy, slightly famous at this point.
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“Shall trees sway with the wind, how many half-withered leaves would fall heavily?”
Seasons after, she left these casual words to the club that was once her paradise. Then she never wrote again ever since. F.A. 2806/22nd/Season of Newborn
It has been three years. From time to time, those long-buried possibilities are still pulled out of my thoughts by accident. If she hadn't been a leaf trapped in a tree, perhaps sunlight and air would have meant life.
After the “talented” girl had disappeared, I rummaged through the manuscripts she had given me. I found the “Dream.” The story she had never posted, longer than anything she had ever written. A story about a child who sacrifices every pleasure just to meet everyone’s anticipation, until he loses the meaning, life is but a seed to abandon for survival anytime. I once thought it was just a piece to capture the bitterness of reality. Now I understand. The story she veiled, was her own trace of life.
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