作者：Valencina, the Sottocapo of the Thumb

原编者按：应作者要求，我们重新推送此文。

我们被点缀在幽蓝布景，

同深邃的天幕一样安静，

面无表情也没画上眼睛，

通体僵硬，寸步难行，

“钉在空中的‘人’，值得你操心?”

那是我们来时的煤炭星星，

数千寒夜中常伴的温和。

但我再也听不到它絮叨的炉火，

未烬的它，触手难着。

寒风攥紧我的围巾，

扼住我的脖颈，

榨干我每一寸的余热，

留给四季如春的，

地上的天国。

Welcome to our Coal-Stripped Planet.

(Remember: warmth is a line in the budget.)

We’ll have:

“Inexhaustible” clean energy — drawn from the margins.

Autonomous EVs.

Humanoid machines.

600-km/h maglev lines.

Colonies among the stars.

Haven’t you tasted the gifts of

the gospel of Technicalism?

Aren’t you already lost in this arrogant dream?

The gas heater hasn’t burned in ages.

Cold air slipped through my clothes,

crept into my mind.

Numb to the core,

I found myself whispering blasphemies.

For most of my life

I worshiped the nation’s glittering metropolises,

quietly accepting

my hometown, nothing but a moat.

Despising where I came from,

I learned to call myself expendable—small.

Yet it held every joy and sorrow — all.

Ghostly sighs drifted from every frozen corner.

“Does it matter whether I struggle or not?”

(It does.)

“Will we find the road back to warmth?”

(We will.)