glass lover

■

Since I didn't know whether Mr. Oberstein was satisfied or not, I left the painting in the album as an unfinished study, and I didn't show it to anyone else.Originally, I wanted to find a chance to repaint, but Mr. Oberstein was always very busy, so this wish was never fulfilled.

The middle school I went to was Odin No. [-] Middle School, which is a civilian middle school with a good reputation, but for me, its biggest advantage is that it is close to home.Still, my background as a war orphan makes me often unsatisfied with many phenomena.The teachers talked about the importance of knowledge, but were stingy in recommending inspiring books for us to read; while talking about the sense of responsibility and patriotism of imperial citizens in the new era, they forbade us to talk about national affairs; Self-respect and self-respect, but students who make mistakes are punished in a way that is almost humiliating.As for homework in school, I am more interested in mathematics, literature and art music, as for history and OO thinking, I dislike it the least.

After the first semester exam, my OO thought score was the last in the whole grade.The strange thing is that failing in any other subjects is not as serious as OO thinking.On the day the report card was handed out, I came home and saw my father's face was livid. I was a little scared and hid in the room, not daring to come down for dinner.

At around nine o'clock in the evening, someone knocked on my door.I timidly opened the door.Unexpectedly, it was Mr. Oberstein, whose peaceful expression made me relax a little.

"Sir, what can you do for me?" I remembered my father's teaching, and I should be respectful and polite when speaking to Mr. Oberstein.

"Did you know that two people from school came to your house today to talk to your father for an hour?"

"What?" My eyes widened in horror.

"Don't you know? The Capital Education Bureau stipulates that the school must conduct home visits for the bottom [-]% of students with the worst ideological grades to ensure that the students have no background problems." Mr. Oberstein pouted, "More Besides, you are the last one at all.”

"Your father explained to them for a long time, and repeatedly stated that there is nothing wrong with your patriotism, but you just transferred to another school, so you didn't adapt well. However, they said that your grades in other subjects were good, and you transferred to another school. It dragged on for as long as an hour."

I went from remorse to anger as I listened.

"Those are all meaningless things. It's strange. For hundreds of years, no one has questioned whether there is any problem with these things? It's the same thing over and over again. According to the above, I'm afraid you have problems too."

Mr. Oberstein showed a strange expression. I guessed that I might have said something wrong, but I felt that I had to say something, so I continued to say loudly:

"Sir, I've seen many poor children before, and it's not their fault. If you insist on classifying these people as bad people who can't survive, do you think there is any reason in this world?"

Mr. did not answer my words, he solemnly said:

"Margaret, you are right, but you can't tell others to hear such a thing."

Seeing that I was a little absent-minded, he put his hands on my shoulders and told me again:

"I know you don't like it, but other people may have ideas similar to yours, but they have two possibilities. The first is to submit, and the second is to work hard to get the chance to change the world in the future. Which one do you want to choose? Seed? If you want to get a chance, you need to be patient first. Got it? You still have to take the exam well.”

I seemed to understand and nodded.I decided to listen to him, try to put away my rebellious thoughts, and talk about it after taking the exam.

■

When Margaret said this, it was already three o'clock in the morning.Murat seemed to have forgotten her tiredness, and sat in the living room listening to her recount her memories.After talking non-stop for hours, Margaret's voice was still bright.Murat found that sometimes she was simply enjoying her voice and tone of voice, and sometimes she missed what she said.

"What happened next?" A good listener should be able to say "What happened next?" to help the conversation, and Murat is no exception.

Margaret stood up and stretched. "Later, later I won the prize."

"Award?"

"Imperial Art Biennale. It was when I was about to graduate from middle school, and my father encouraged me to sign up. I thought I would be rejected in the first review, but there was no follow-up for a long time. Wait until I know that I have been shortlisted It’s been several months since then.”

When she said it, it didn't come across as a terrific jackpot.However, there was a gleam of excitement in her eyes.

"It's so late, should you go to bed?" Margaret looked up at the clock.

"I... I'm not sleepy..." Murat, whose excitement was suddenly interrupted, stammered.

"You're not sleepy, but I'm already." Margaret opened the door of the guest room, "You'd better get some sleep first. If you want to take a shower, you can use the bathroom by yourself. You're welcome."

Murat, who had never stayed at a lady's house, was a little embarrassed, walked into the guest room, and closed the door behind her.In addition to a neatly made single bed in the guest room, there is also a full bookcase and an empty coat rack.

He took off his coat and went into the bathroom.The warm yellow light makes people relax, and the lemon-flavored soap smells unspeakably lovely.As he took a shower, he thought about the story he had just heard.After rinsing and getting ready to get dressed, Murat suddenly noticed herself in the bathroom mirror.

The shoulder is uneven, and the left side is relatively low; the clavicle was once fractured, and it does not feel as straight as before after healing; the ribs on the left and right have been broken; there are many large and small scars, and some scars have been found by himself over time. I can't remember clearly; there is a newer scar on his right arm, which he left while defending the emperor.

Looking at her muscular body, which was actually a bit deformed, Murat sighed softly.In fact, I can’t remember how I endured the pain and torture of such a serious injury. I was on the verge of being disabled several times, but I stood up again and returned to work with honor and courage.

Walking out of the bathroom, I saw an extra men's pajamas on the bed.Probably Commodore Blau's clothes.Murat put it on with ease.

Murat, who was still awake for a while, got up and opened the bookcase.The cabinet is full of hardcover albums, which look quite spectacular.A few of them can be seen to have a long history, and some are from the last two or three years.In the middle row of albums, there are several black leather hardcovers with the words on the back:

"[-] Galactic Empire Art Biennale Collection"

There are five old picture albums from 20 years ago, which shows the scale of this exhibition.He pulled out a copy, but it was so heavy that he couldn't hold it.Turning a page casually, he suddenly saw a line of names that he was very familiar with:

"[-]st prize for watercolor painting, Ernest Mecklinger"

Turning down in order, I saw Margaret's name, which was the award for the masterpiece of watercolor painting.

In addition to the full-color photos of the exhibited works in the thick album, there are news compilations and interviews with the winners at the back.In the news photo next to it, a pretty girl with short hair is holding a trophy that symbolizes the glory of the art world, showing a bright smile.That smile gives people the illusion that the world has stopped at this beautiful moment, and there is no need to worry about any disappointment or loneliness, betrayal or pain.

Murat stared blankly at the picture.There was a strong cold wind blowing outside the window.Lying in an unfamiliar quilt, reading the stories of other people's teenage years.A voice that he hadn't thought of for a long time suddenly sounded in his mind:

"...I don't want to endure the fear of losing you..."

■

It was nearly noon when Murat woke up.It seemed to him that the heater had been turned on a little more.Sitting up from the bed, I saw the picture album I took yesterday was placed on the bedside table, and there was a note on it.

"I have to go out in the morning, so you can sleep more. There is bread in the kitchen. Remember to lock the door for me when you leave.

Gretchen

"... Gretchen..." Murat murmured the name.In my impression, this is Margaret's pet name.He fell back on the bed and looked at his watch.

"She really trusts me." With a wry smile, Murat got up, washed and changed her clothes, thinking that it was time to go back.Murat put the picture album she took out yesterday back on the bookcase, and before putting it back, she couldn't help turning to the photo of Margaret winning the prize, and looked at it again.

The house seemed very quiet without Margaret.Walking into the living room, I saw a pile of large and small paintings on the wall, and there was a faint atmosphere that I couldn't bear to leave.

Standing in the living room, Murat remembered the dream she had last night, which was all she had tried to forget.

A dream without any plot, just some sound clips that he used to be very familiar with.He flipped through the paintings one by one.Margaret prefers light and transparent watercolors, or oil paintings that make full use of warm tones. The themes of these paintings are all pictures that can be captured at any time around life, but they are not ordinary. Each observation has a unique and humorous feeling .

Every painting is a memory, an emotion, a condensed time, or even just a taste.Murat, who has always believed that she has no artistic accomplishment, suddenly feels that she has begun to resonate with the world described by Margaret.Creation is rooted in experience, experience comes from feeling, and the source of everything is the essence of a person, character, education, thought...etc. The manifestation of the inner world.It may be subtle, it may be strong, and so on.

Out of the house, Murat locked the door.The moment he locked the door, he had the feeling that he had also locked a little bit of his secret in the room.