"Tick -", at twelve o'clock in the evening, at the moment when the second hand overlapped with the hour hand, he dreamed of the nightingale again.
The dream seemed to be the same, with the same room, the same layout, and... The same nightingale.
A gray-brown, furry little one, locked in a beautiful golden cage, jumping and singing.
But something different seems to have happened today.
He saw the bird that seemed to have stayed in the golden cage forever fly out and land on a cluster of white roses. The nightingale sang.
That cluster of white roses is blooming so well, so beautiful.
Suddenly, thorns pierced the nightingale's body and spread, and a red rose bloomed among the white rose bushes.
That nightingale... Is dead?
Ye Yin woke up from his dream.
The light brown hair hangs on the forehead one by one, like winding withered vines.
Remarks: Clear mine first 1. A very short story, more than 7,000 words, inspired by Mr. Oscar Wilde's The Nightingale and the Rose
2. Just a little idea. After writing it, I found that I couldn't write it. I don't even know what the hell I wrote, but if you are interested, you can take a look.
Mission: Transactions are always fair