the diary of someone who never understood the world — even though he understood it well enough
ผู้แต่ง
athanasia(อาธานาเซีย)เรื่องย่อ
the diary of someone who never understood the world — even though he understood it well enough
ตะวันตก,เรื่องสั้น,เล่าประสบการณ์,อื่นๆ,ชีวิต ,ชีวิตประจำวัน,ชีวิตประ,ปรัชญา,plotteller, ploteller, plotteler,พล็อตเทลเลอร์, แอพแพนด้าแดง, แพนด้าแดง, พล็อตเทลเลอร์, รี้ดอะไร้ต์,รีดอะไรท์,รี้ดอะไรท์,รี้ดอะไร, tunwalai , ธัญวลัย, dek-d, เด็กดี, นิยายเด็กดี ,นิยายออนไลน์,อ่านนิยาย,นิยาย,อ่านนิยายออนไลน์,นักเขียน,นักอ่าน,งานเขียน,บทความ,เรื่องสั้น,ฟิค,แต่งฟิค,แต่งนิยาย
The Diary Awaiting Oblivion (ENG)
the diary of someone who never understood the world — even though he understood it well enough
i dreamed of many things that slowly disappeared whenever a new dream came
but one night, as i was about to step outside my house, i saw a small cat at my feet — the cat that had just died
i cried instantly, thinking, “this must be a dream… because the last time i saw you, you were bigger than this”
i lifted it into my arms, its body growing until it reached its real size, then swelling larger, fatter than it ever was in life
“i’m sorry,” i whispered, tears running down my face.
the memory pulled me back
the night before it died i had seen the sickness coming, its body weakening
i told my father,
“its condition is serious, i read the symptoms online.”
he said,
“it’s too dangerous to drive at midnight. wait until morning”
i should have argued more, i should have fought harder, but i didn’t
i thought: my father will live with me for decades, maybe longer if technology allows
but this cat, even with treatment, would only live a few more years
so i chose silence
and by morning its body had already turned cold.
and maybe that is what we always do —
we let the most fragile thing die in silence,
not because we wanted it gone,
but because keeping our own comfort
felt safer than keeping it alive
you have done it too
you saw something breaking,
you measured the weight of your comfort
against the weight of its life,
and you chose yourself
we all do
and then we grieve as if grief could wash the blood away
in the dream i called for doctors
they examined the cat, then said simply, “he’s dead”
i begged them to tell me why, to give me the answer i never had in life
but they spoke in circles, avoiding the truth
i grew desperate, shouting, “just tell me already!”
and at that moment i woke up
i sat in silence, the memory still clinging to me, and wrote it all down before the dream could dissolve — because forgetting would be another kind of killing