Fiction logo

The dust and smoke of the town

by Test 2 months ago in Short Story
Report Story

I was born in a small town in the south, not small, not big; living in the town of many people, for this land, do not love, nor hate.

The dust and smoke of the town
Photo by Dale Choi on Unsplash

I was born in a small town in the south, not small, not big; living in the town of many people, for this land, do not love, nor hate.

I lived in the town for ten years, remember the town has a street, a road full of dust.

Memory, each mediocre morning, full of childishness in my ear noisy bazaar yelling and "Jiangnan leather factory" "sheepskin sweater clearance" in the noise of the street, look at the street vendors squeezing the not spacious sidewalk, look at the old and dilapidated The "old" signboards were hanging in pieces on the short, flat old houses. Wearing a red scarf, I ran across the street in the early morning, listening to the sound of dusty wind, and went to the elementary school at the end of the street.

Dust, in addition to this picture, I can recall, only the dust, or the people and events of those years, is melted into the dust. An old cement road that has not been repaired for many years, in every big truck run over, always claim it flying dust, in every foreign youth to step on the time, also with dust, top-down his footprints.

So, on every rainy day, the dust mixed with rain will turn the town into a mud puddle, the town breathes the smell of dust, at first like a struggle, wanting to change something, and then immersed in it. A group of children, including me, listened to the adults talk about the minutiae of life, weddings, and funerals on the dusty streets. The broken and fragmented pieces of life in the town mixed with the sighs of our fathers and even grandfathers brought us hardship and complexity that we could not understand at that age. Years later, I tried to use the imagery of dust to describe the small town life that I could not understand, and I felt that it was like dust, obscuring, stubborn, urban, and lacking in meaning. Just like that dusty street.

Like most literary works in which small-town youths flee, I came to the county with my mother, and through the county's "teacher recruitment program," she became a teacher in one of the county's middle schools. As I wandered through the streets of the county, I sighed at the prosperity and newness of the city. The new life is like a heavy rain refreshing my world, I feel more and more about the backwardness of that town, fleeing I desperately caress my eyes to wipe away the stained dust, but my father and grandparents keep calling me at the end of life, excitedly told me that the town and a few hundred million projects, to carry out the "dress with hat" project, the province approved The hot springs resort upgrade plan ...... seems to want to use the thriving everything to attract me back to see. I took the phone, the mud puddle of the street gray covering the heart, looking out the window on the clean avenue, through the neon lights of a face full of expectation, I said stiffly "free certain, next time certain".

One day, I was lazily lying on the sofa in the living room when my mother patted me and said she had to go back to town to attend a relative's wedding, "Dad is coming to pick us up, so get ready." I responded helplessly, my heart full of whining.

Since it was the first time I went home in a long time, my father seemed to be very happy, and on the way, he introduced the country's "rural revitalization", "special industry support development" and "helping to alleviate poverty" like pointing out a series of projects. "A series of projects said also turned out the red-headed document on the public number. "But I like the county!" I responded in my heart.

To the town is already night, my father proudly said: "today first show you the new hot spring resort, tomorrow free to go to a few precision poverty alleviation demonstration villages around, now the countryside built can be good." I was really curious, I looked up, only to find that the concrete road has long since ceased, shiny and comfortable tarmac road has been extended forward, striking double yellow lines, crossroads traffic lights into the eyes, the street is spotless.

Father continued to excitedly introduce us to the neat houses on both sides, bright signs, and unified planning of the stalls, like a tour guide, the corners of his mouth rose, and said, "You were born caught up with the good times, ah, the speed of development we used to dare not think." And then picked up a sentence "It's a pity that you went to study in the county, can not watch the development of the town every day." After a short silence, I did not answer.

Walking into the resort's gate, the lingering mist immediately surrounded me, warm and clear, my father led me into the hot spring, and along the winding stone path, we found a large pool called "years of quiet" and sat down. After the adults and I exchanged pleasantries, they pointed to the hut halfway up the hill and spoke with great enthusiasm about the country's project in town, and the rest of us echoed their sentiments. Once again, they talked about how their lives had changed, their faces full of almost contented joy and inexplicable anticipation. The fireworks reflected on everyone's faces, no longer the closed-off dust of a few years ago, but instead the anticipation of gaining some kind of great support. They talked about vacations, about travel, about tomorrow, and I felt like fireworks, mundane and ordinary, but still giving hope, just like this ordinary but meaningful spa.

Before we left, my father and I walked through that street again, like a great force holding us up, for many years.

This force has changed this town in the south, once full of dust, it is now full of human fireworks, and I have fallen in love with the town again, this not-so-small town.

Yes, we are all growing, just like our country.

Short Story

About the author

Test

Keep publishing your work every day so that everyone can get help

Reader insights

Be the first to share your insights about this piece.

How does it work?

Add your insights

Comments

There are no comments for this story

Be the first to respond and start the conversation.

Sign in to comment

    Find us on social media

    Miscellaneous links

    • Explore
    • Contact
    • Privacy Policy
    • Terms of Use
    • Support

    © 2022 Creatd, Inc. All Rights Reserved.