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墨書 Inktalez
The morning light pried open the shackles of thick fog like a golden key, and the moss on the cobblestone path glistened with a damp sheen. The copper bell hanging under the Old Post Office's porch suddenly jingled three times, startling a stray cat huddled under the eaves for shelter from the rain. Aunt Anna's Milk Can clattered to the steps of the Bakery, spilling a milky stream that wound its way across the faded Welcome mat.
"Oh my..." Margaret, the florist, stumbled against the Oak Door frame, her arms losing petals of Cornflower dampened by morning dew. From across three shops away, a metallic crash echoed from the hardware store as Boss Tom rushed out, his neck flushed and clutching a rusty Rusted Anchor Chain.
In the shadow cast by the church bell tower, the limping Old Cobbler suddenly tossed aside his cane. His cracked fingertips brushed over the engraved handle of a Cutting Knife, where letters blurred by mist for twenty years seeped out in dark red under the sunlight—"For dear Albert, forever yours, Martha." Tears splashed onto the brass engraving tool, waking Silver Bell curled at the bottom of the toolbox.
The wooden window on the second floor of the grocery store creaked open, and Lily saw a figure by the fountain in the square sway slightly. The old man who always polished the Bronze Statue at dusk took off his felt hat, revealing curly locks she had seen in her dreams countless times. The wind swept through the Aesculus surrounding the square, carrying a briny scent of seawater but failing to disperse the Elderflower fragrance lingering in the air.
"Dad!" Lily's Canvas Shoes splashed through puddles as she crushed reflections beneath her feet. When she collided into the old man's embrace, the coolness of the third Copper Button on his Military Uniform pressed against her cheek—just like in that funeral photograph she had secretly glimpsed while hiding in a wardrobe at seven years old. The trembling palm of his hand hovered three inches above her head until Lily grasped that empty sleeve and pressed it against her shoulder.
Suddenly, an argument erupted from across the fountain, tearing through the tender atmosphere. The Bakery Owner hurled a cracked cutting board toward the Statue Base: "Why should you decide for us! On my daughter's wedding day..." His roar was interrupted by the hoarse sobs of Old Fisherman, whose sea-weathered face turned crimson: "My Little Jenny... when she hugged her doll and said 'Daddy, don’t go...'"
A buzzing sound of metal scraping came from the Statue Base. Lily's Father propped himself against the damp marble with one arm; his Military Boots' Copper Button shone just as brightly as it had nineteen years ago when he fell into the sea. "That night’s storm overturned seven rescue boats," his voice ground out like rusty gears on sandpaper, "the radiation range of Memory Erasure Device... was just enough to cover the entire Harbor."
Gasps rippled through the crowd. The Tailor Shop owner’s wife suddenly collapsed onto a bench; her Sewing Basket rolled out half-finished embroidery—on an unfinished Sailboat pattern was stitched clumsily: "For my bravest dad." The Pharmacist adjusted his cracked Lens and murmured to himself: "No wonder my head hurts like this after every storm..."
As dusk climbed up to touch the bell tower's spire, Flower Girl placed the first white rose at the foot of the Bronze Statue. The Old Postman removed his hat, revealing a crescent-shaped scar on his forehead—the mark from when he rushed into a fire for the ninth time and was struck by a falling beam. When Arthur bent down to pick up a Glass Marble that had rolled by his feet, he noticed it bore a blurred date: precisely that night when Memory Erasure Device was activated.
The sea breeze swept through with its salty mist but could not disperse the applause gradually rising from within the crowd. The Old Cobbler's Silver Bell gently swayed on Boss Tom's Chain, mingling with waves of "thank you." Lily watched as her father's shadow stretched long in the sunset finally straightened his back; that empty sleeve traced gentle arcs in the evening breeze, softly encircling her trembling shoulders.
Arthur quietly retreated into the shadow of Phoenix Tree, his fingertips brushing over fading engravings on the marble. As the last rays of sunlight swept across the Nautical Chart held by Bronze Statue's hand, he suddenly noticed small words covered in moss at its Base—"In memory of all those brave enough to protect their choices, whether they are remembered or not."
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