abstract dirge
Under a deep blue sky with a golden moon, a girl named Neuro, around eleven or twelve years old, was on the sandy beach by the sea, surrounded by vast green watermelon fields. She wore a silver collar and wielded a steel fork, trying to catch a jackal that slipped away from her.
I met Neuro when we were both just over ten, and it's been nearly thirty years. Back then, my family was well-off, and we were in charge of a significant sacrificial ceremony that only happened once every thirty years. We needed help guarding the ritual vessels, so Neuro, the daughter of our busy month worker, came to assist.
Neuro and I quickly became friends. She was shy but opened up to me, sharing her excitement about the city and the things she'd never seen before. She told me about catching birds in the snow and the colorful shells we could collect on the beach in summer. She also spoke of guarding watermelons at night from animals like badgers and jackals, using a spear to protect the crop.
I was fascinated by Neuro's stories of the beach and its wonders, things I'd never experienced, living within the confines of my home's walls. Sadly, after the New Year, Neuro had to return home. We were both upset, but she was eventually taken away by her father. She later sent me a package of shells and beautiful bird feathers, and though we exchanged a few gifts, we never saw each other again.
