I was walking on the street, the sunset was bloody, and the feeling of crying faintly. The wind blew lazily, dancing a weird dance alone with the dead leaves on the ground. There were not many people on the road around me, walking one by one with a blank mask. I was holding a cigarette, and it was one of them.
I am as suspicious as a fox and sensitive. So I found that she was following me, following from a distance. Very unremarkable, but I know. There seems to be a feeling telling me that she is following me, as if something from her touched my back. My skin felt this strange and depressing feeling.
I turned around the street and stood in the shadow. Then suddenly appeared as she turned around, blocking her. I don’t know why I’m doing this. I can’t confirm this feeling. Maybe it’s just a coincidence. I couldn’t have been this way. For a while, I felt crazy. I did it this way, was it abrupt? I told myself.
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She seemed taken aback and hurriedly closed her steps. The tip of her nose almost hit my chest, and the thing in her hand “snapped” to the ground. “Ah,” she exclaimed, but the sound was more like a moan after being injured. I threw the cigarette butt that I half smoked and picked it up. I was horrified to find that it was a doll, wearing a green dress with sleeves and a white shirt. Very old, but clean and tidy. The doll had no head, and there were only a few cloth drapes in the place where it was supposed to be.
I hesitated and returned it to her. It was a tall girl, the most beautiful was her long hair, her waist was long, her face was drooping, and she couldn’t see it in her hair. What is certain is that her skin is very pale. She took the doll silently and hugged it tightly in her arms, just standing in front of me, lowering her head and holding the doll. Her dress is much the same as that of the rag doll, which reminds me oddly of how she felt when she had no head. The stinging feeling now reached my face, chest, and even eyes. And she didn’t raise her head, she had been silent for the previous five seconds. Like a sad oil painting.
The sky has begun to dim, and the joy of the sun is being murdered little by little at night.