【生肉搬运】鸟雀Passerine 第三章(6)
“If so, then His Majesty would certainly welcome my esteemed company,” Tommy replied, giving the guard a grin and a salute as he pushed his way into the king’s offices.
Beyond the door was a large, sparsely-decorated room. There used to be paintings on the walls of past kings—their forefathers with gold hair and brilliant-blue eyes—but the first thing Wilbur had done as king was take them all down. Tommy remembered sitting on the floor of the offices, staring up as Wilbur climbed a ladder, rolled his sleeves up to his elbow and began ripping the paintings from their hooks. There had been such violence in his movements, as if the task was the very bane of his existence. Once it was done, Wilbur stood in the center of his devastation, taking in the bare walls, and nodded once to himself, pleased. Tommy still didn’t know if Wilbur even noticed he was there, too.
The only paintings on the walls now were the landscapes Mama used to make. Tommy’s favorite was the one of a mountain range shrouded in blue mist, because he could see in the corner where Mama had given him the brush for a few seconds—three errant brushstrokes in an otherwise perfect painting that stood as a reminder that, once upon a time, Tommy had existed in the same universe as his mother.
Beyond the door was a large, sparsely-decorated room. There used to be paintings on the walls of past kings—their forefathers with gold hair and brilliant-blue eyes—but the first thing Wilbur had done as king was take them all down. Tommy remembered sitting on the floor of the offices, staring up as Wilbur climbed a ladder, rolled his sleeves up to his elbow and began ripping the paintings from their hooks. There had been such violence in his movements, as if the task was the very bane of his existence. Once it was done, Wilbur stood in the center of his devastation, taking in the bare walls, and nodded once to himself, pleased. Tommy still didn’t know if Wilbur even noticed he was there, too.
The only paintings on the walls now were the landscapes Mama used to make. Tommy’s favorite was the one of a mountain range shrouded in blue mist, because he could see in the corner where Mama had given him the brush for a few seconds—three errant brushstrokes in an otherwise perfect painting that stood as a reminder that, once upon a time, Tommy had existed in the same universe as his mother.
第十三章快把电动棒关掉
