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β·β¦; w e l c o m e β
In a dark garden, dimly lit by a lamp, a woman sat on a time-worn wooden chair.
The woman carried a bouquet of roses in her right hand, as if she had received them from someone, and a black watch in her left hand.
The woman wore a short-sleeved white shirt and tight black jeans, white sneakers adorning her feet, her long black hair fluttering in the night breeze.
Her white skin was now cool, and her brown eyes gazed up at the sky, gazing at the bright moon.
Her pink lips hummed a song, verse by verse.
Once again, the wind blew strongly, blowing her hair, almost disheveled.
And before long, a flash of bluish-white light momentarily blinded her vision. A second later, an explosion of sound struck her.
Boom!
The once-bright moon was now obscured by black clouds.
Despite this, the woman sitting on the oak tree had no intention of leaving, as if it didn't matter to her. Soon, a drop of water began to fall onto her cheek.
Silent and silent,
The woman closed her eyes, facing the moon, now obscured by dark clouds. Drop by drop, the moon, which had previously shone, now merged with the dark clouds, as if in discussion.
And soon, heavy rain began to pour down on the woman's body, still with her eyes closed. The rain was accompanied by flashes of lightning and the rain grew heavier as if they were crying for something.
Once again, lightning struck a shady tree not far from her. The hooting of an owl could be heard, flying away and seeking shade. The woman sitting on the oak tree looked down, her fingers tightly gripping the object in her grasp. She took a deep breath, then exhaled sharply, opened her eyes, and stood up.
"You didn't come, Geo," she said. The woman looked up once more, the moon no longer shining brightly, only black clouds and lightning. She lowered her gaze, her brown eyes showing a blank stare. She moved her feet and began to walk away from the park area that was now covered in heavy rain.
After the woman left, the trees began to sway violently, the previously dim lights now dimmed, and the sound of frogs began to break the noise.
The faint scent of perfume still lingered, as if to tell that someone had once visited there. The worn wooden chair bore witness to the waiting, and on the wooden chair also lay a single red rose, now battered by the rain.