A thermometer was broken.
Broken in the early morning when there should be no light. The mercury rolled out, silvery, like some broken promise. It was never swept away again.
The crayon drew a circle on the newspaper. There are five lines on the circle, extending crookedly in different directions. That thing later became known as the sun.
Someone laughed. Soon. It's so fast that it's like a very, very far away star. The light travels for a long time before it arrives, and when it arrives, it has already gone out. Then it never lit up again.
A door closes. Keeping all the weight outside. There was a small sound in the darkness, like bones growing or bones breaking.
One word dropped. Red hot. Scars can also appear through clothing.
The corridor is very long. The footsteps echoed inside for many years and never stopped.
Then there was a summer. It's hot. It was so hot that the floor was sweating. A ray of light cracked from the fingertips, blue and white, like something that had been locked up a long time ago and finally bit the lock. There was a voice coming from the bottom. There were no words, but it was very heavy, like a seed dropped into the soil that had been dry for many years.
It didn't sprout. It's waiting.
The iron gate moved on its own. The sound of the hinges was like a groan coming from far away. The white hair hangs down and sweeps the dust on the threshold. The blood seeped out slowly, like a flower counting down.
The peonies on the bottom of the enamel bowl have faded, but they still maintain the same posture as when they were painted.
The cicadas stopped chirping at the same time. The shadow of the tree did not move.
Something is gathering in the air.
Out of sight. Crackling sound.
It's like before a storm, like after a storm - that period of time that doesn't belong to any season.
Concept: The fifth season