Up to 600 dead in mudslide-devastated village in Taiwan

 

 

I often wonder who will be the last person to see me alive, but some don't.

Some just don't have time to think about that.

We are all making a point of being seen. Today, tomorrow, or the next day. A minute passed. I fell to my knees. I thought, I didn't live forever.

Of the dreams they shared and lost, of everything that happened and didn't happen, some would never speak of it after that.

And yet, some shouldn't make up everything because that made it hard to believe everything.

 

Dogs barked in the distance. Hours went by. And then the sudden death. So many deaths. For some reason, they didn't scream. Or maybe I couldn't hear their screams. They didn't know how much time passed. Days, they never went back.

 

 

Personal failures: last night he saw a man kicking a dog and he felt it behind his eyes. I don't know what to call this, a place before tears. The pain of forgetting: spine. The pain of remembering: spine. And so he did the hardest thing he'd ever done in his life: he picked up his hat and walked away.

 

I wanted to describe it to the world, but when would I learn that there wasn't a word for everything?

 

 

 

 

 
 

 

 
 

 
 

 
 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

創作者介紹

一本尚未完結的書

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