03-20-2017, 03:19 PM
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蜡烛照亮别人,却毁灭了自己
a candle lights others and consumes itself
a candle lights others and consumes itself
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If someone would ask her ‘how have you gotten here?’, she would have answered ‘I don not know, I just am’. There is no panic, no fear. Also no memories. Neither good or bad ones. She knows only one thing and that’s her name. Short, simple, three letters. Jia. She was, no, she ís Jia. And Jia is her. She does not fear the world, but she also doesn’t quite understand it. But at the same time, you could ask yourself the question if you have to.
Her path looks like its set clear, as there is no hesitance in her step other than a slight stumble and incoordination, yet her destination is even unknown to her. Just like she doesn’t know where she had come from, or who she came from, to who she belonged. No, that is not true. Jia doesn’t belong to anyone, not to anybody but herself.
That is how she walks through the meadow, looking around with both curious and alert eyes. Her coat has dried, or perhaps it had been licked clean, but the clumsiness and the winkled state of her body are clear signals of her youth. From the looks of it, she couldn’t be older than a day or two, but there was no sign of her mother around.
Then, like she’s suddenly aware of something that is missing, she halts. Her black nostrils tremble when she calls out, a high pitched whinny echoing across the meadow. Grass gently weeps against her dark legs, a gentle breeze ruffling her short baby hair. Jia doesn’t stand still, instead turns towards each sound, eyes wide and ears twisting. What is it that she lost?
Her path looks like its set clear, as there is no hesitance in her step other than a slight stumble and incoordination, yet her destination is even unknown to her. Just like she doesn’t know where she had come from, or who she came from, to who she belonged. No, that is not true. Jia doesn’t belong to anyone, not to anybody but herself.
That is how she walks through the meadow, looking around with both curious and alert eyes. Her coat has dried, or perhaps it had been licked clean, but the clumsiness and the winkled state of her body are clear signals of her youth. From the looks of it, she couldn’t be older than a day or two, but there was no sign of her mother around.
Then, like she’s suddenly aware of something that is missing, she halts. Her black nostrils tremble when she calls out, a high pitched whinny echoing across the meadow. Grass gently weeps against her dark legs, a gentle breeze ruffling her short baby hair. Jia doesn’t stand still, instead turns towards each sound, eyes wide and ears twisting. What is it that she lost?
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