【生肉搬运】Shrike伯劳鸟 第三章 英语原文(3)
“It was definitely not,” Sapnap replied.
“Well.” They both turned to George, who shrugged at the sudden scrutiny. “It was a bit funny.”
Sapnap glared, utterly betrayed, while Dream threw his head back in laughter, shoulders shaking with the force of his own glee. George watched him a heavy feeling in his gut. It wasn’t as simple as wariness or curiosity. Dream, he named him, and George supposed it was only fitting. It had been a long time since George slept soundly enough to dream—dreams and nightmares both were a distant memory from his younger days, when his mind still had room for imagined goodness and awfulness. And then he’d lived long enough to outgrow imagination. All the good, and the bad, he lived them. What use were dreams, then? What use were nightmares?
But even after all these years, he still remembered—not what he dreamt about when he was a young and stupid child, but how they felt. It was like moving through water, every movement impossibly slow, every gesture warped and just a little bit… wrong. That was it. Dreams, and Dream, felt strangely wrong, but in a way that George couldn’t name. It was a wrongness only observed through hindsight, a wrongness only known by those awake, but George—
“Well.” They both turned to George, who shrugged at the sudden scrutiny. “It was a bit funny.”
Sapnap glared, utterly betrayed, while Dream threw his head back in laughter, shoulders shaking with the force of his own glee. George watched him a heavy feeling in his gut. It wasn’t as simple as wariness or curiosity. Dream, he named him, and George supposed it was only fitting. It had been a long time since George slept soundly enough to dream—dreams and nightmares both were a distant memory from his younger days, when his mind still had room for imagined goodness and awfulness. And then he’d lived long enough to outgrow imagination. All the good, and the bad, he lived them. What use were dreams, then? What use were nightmares?
But even after all these years, he still remembered—not what he dreamt about when he was a young and stupid child, but how they felt. It was like moving through water, every movement impossibly slow, every gesture warped and just a little bit… wrong. That was it. Dreams, and Dream, felt strangely wrong, but in a way that George couldn’t name. It was a wrongness only observed through hindsight, a wrongness only known by those awake, but George—
香蜜第三次灵修原文描写
