Have grey fairy tales been published? When will they be published?

Want to be a human puppet.

In the world where puppets live, puppets are human toys. When they are worn out, or when the owner is in a bad mood, they will be removed at will or simply thrown into the fire.

Among my compatriots, puppets are elaborately made. Wearing a linen shirt and a baseball cap, he looks almost like a human child from a distance. The unique conditions brought ambition, and he began to study people's every move and wanted to be a real person.

One day, he slipped into a pub frequented by human beings, which hardly aroused anyone's suspicion, but was recognized because he missed a crack in his chin while drinking. The bar owner felt fooled and threatened to turn him into firewood. At this time, a group of puppets came out of nowhere and saved his life-they were the puppet People's Liberation Army. Puppets not only heard about this organization for the first time, but also had the honor to follow them back to the base and meet their leader, the puppet king.

The little puppet spoke his ideal of becoming a human being, and the kind and patient puppet king told him a story:

A long time ago, puppets were masters, people were slaves and even kept as livestock. There was a little boy who was tired of poverty. He learned to imitate the stiff joint movements and rattling sounds of street puppets, put on plastic hair, put on exaggerated and bright clothes, and pretend to be puppets, sometimes quite successfully. But one day, he was caught by a sharp-eyed puppet. He was angry that he dared to break into a "noble community" as a humble person, and the puppet guards broke his arm. But the boy was so brave that he even secretly picked up the stick that hit him, cut it into a certain shape and replaced his arm.

In the puppet cemetery, he met a group of grave robbers and helped them guard it so as to get what they needed: the grave robbers got beautiful funerary objects, while the boys could get uncorrupted puppet bodies. Gradually, he replaced his hands and feet with suitable limbs, making himself closer and closer to the real puppet. Finally, one day, neither man nor puppet can tell their identity. He proudly broke into the puppet world, boldly applied for a noble job, and even began to pursue his favorite puppet girl. But then the revolution broke out-people rebelled against their slave status and quickly overthrew the puppet rule. The boy's situation is as dangerous as all puppets. His childhood partner advised him to clarify his human identity, because he still has a human heart, which is acceptable if the situation is checked correctly. But the boy refused. "I am a puppet." He proudly declared and led those puppets with rebellious spirit to hide, calling on survivors to rise up against mankind and restore their former glory. At this point in the story, the puppet has guessed that the hero is the puppet king. Even the closest comrade-in-arms, it has always been a secret that "Puppet King" has a human heart, which is also the source of his pain. His pride did not let the puppets know that he was just an alien with impure blood, but his heart, which had always maintained a relationship with the past, made him not know how to deal with it.

"Do you really have a momentary heart?" The puppet's voice trembled when he asked questions.

The puppet king smiled tolerantly. He opened the revised edition on his chest and waited for the puppet's hand to come. "You can touch it." While waiting, he muttered, "Maybe I found a way to deal with it."

The day after the puppet king finished his story, the puppet left the puppet PLA station. When he left, he was more human than ever-he had a human heart.

The puppet lingered in the pub, waiting for someone to see through him, or the puppet came to save him. But nobody came at all. The pub owner politely advised him to drink one glass after another.

Ultimate spell

The magic master Bahrain once received a disciple, whose name is unknown at present. It is said that in twelve years, he learned most of Bahrain's skills, from summoning monsters from other planes to changing the characteristics of things. He was still young when Bahrain thought he could learn enough to leave school.

"Teacher, there is one more thing I don't understand. Ask me. "

Bahrain asked him what else he wanted to learn, and he replied, "spells that can destroy anyone."

The old magician pondered for a long time and repeatedly asked the ambitious disciple if he was serious. Young people do not listen to or deliberately ignore the warning in the teacher's tone and insist on exploring the mystery.

"Well, come with me. I'll take you to see a master who can help you."

On the full moon night, the wizard and his disciples set out for the depths of the forest, and the tree demon and the werewolf avoided them. After a long journey, they came to a huge banyan tree with an endless trunk. The young man followed the teacher to the depths of the tree hole. Only when his legs were sore and sleepy did he hear the teacher say, "Here we are, my child."

A spell called "dark vision" helped him to see an old man in front of him. His clothes were worn out and it was difficult to hide his deep breath.

"This is my apprentice. He wants to learn that spell."

The old man just nodded, without any superfluous words, which made people feel that this kind of entrustment was more than once.

For a whole year, young people followed the old man in the tree hole to learn all kinds of knowledge and meditate. "All this is for the preparation of the last spell." Young people know this and are very patient. Finally, the old man thought everything was ready.

"Now I want to show you the spell, but it's amazing. It's dangerous for you to be with me, so leave your ears to listen. "

The young man obeyed obediently, left there after leaving his ear, and walked for ten days and ten nights before he heard the old man chanting a secret spell in the distance. In an instant, the forest was burnt to a scorched earth, and the young people lost their hearing forever.

He went back to the teacher. "Thank you for finding me a mentor. That spell is unusual. I have mastered it, but there are still many gaps from the power I imagined. "

Bahrain answered him with a pen: "In this case, you can come with me again, and I will take you to a master who can really help you."

The magician and his disciples set out for the depths of the mountain again, and the dwarves and goblins saluted them in a friendly way. After a day and a night, they came to a valley where clear springs and singing birds made sweet sounds. The young man feels relaxed and happy here only by sight, and hardly needs the teacher to make gestures to show that he has reached his destination.

The old man in front of him is older than the last one, and his rags not only don't make him look humble, but blend in with this nature.

Bahrain said something to the old man, and the old man grinned back.

After another whole year, the young man didn't find it difficult to learn new things, but he was prepared for desperate efforts and could bear boredom, not to mention flowers, birds, fish and insects.

One day, the old man finally wrote on the ground with a wooden stick: "I will show you the spell, but it is too dangerous, even if I can't protect you." So if you really want to see it, leave your eyes. "

The young man dropped his eyes without hesitation and left the mountain. Knowing the direction by inspiration and occasionally controlling the air to fly in the wind, I walked out of the mountain area in three days. For a while, he witnessed the old man making that short gesture. The mountains slowly turned into mud, and the young people lost their sight forever.

The young man went back to the teacher and reported his income. "That's really bad, even if I pay my eyes, I think it's worth it. But I know that this is still not my ideal level. "

As expected, Bahrain patted his disciple's hand and motioned for him to go with him.

From the heat on the top of the head and the touch on the soles of the feet, young people know that they have followed the teacher to the desert, and the smell in the air should come from the body odor of rattlesnakes or lizard people. After a day and a night, they came to a rugged place, and the teacher stopped the young people from moving forward.

The person in front of them was naked, too old to describe in words, as thin as a spider, ugly and dirty as a caveman. Young people don't know what he looks like and how Bahrain talks with him.

The following year, the young people did nothing. The host doesn't care about sunshine, food and water, and seems to talk or do anything. Everything makes young people feel unbearable. Until one day, the master hit the young man's heart: as you wish, I taught you that spell, and you can only feel it. You need to give up your body.

At that moment, the young man's soul was out of the body, and then an indescribable feeling deeply touched his body, and then desertification became nothingness.

For many years after that, mainland residents told a story about a mage who had no body. He has powerful spells, but he has no weakness to attack. The young man is no longer a young man, he is even old, and the teacher is really old-when the disciple finally came back to visit Bahrain, he was already depressed.

Disciple told the story of these years, "Now I can destroy everything with one thought." The teacher sincerely congratulated, but the disciples didn't appreciate it. He always talked about "but": "but I can't destroy the spirit."

Bahrain seemed to have anticipated this insatiable man's ambition long ago and shook his head with a wry smile: "Do you still need the ultimate spell?"

"If it does exist, of course." A longing soul can even make people imagine his expression.

Bahrain, like many years ago, seriously convinced his disciples that the display of this spell would deal a fatal blow to his only existence. But like all greedy people, the disciples at this time did not listen to any advice. "You don't have to refuse. I must see this ultimate spell. I have been pursuing it for so long that I can't stop there. "

"all right."

Bahrain said this sentence and fell silent. Disciples waited for a long time and found nothing unusual. Suddenly, without warning, he felt his cheeks itch, and then he remembered that he should have no cheeks, but it was really the touch of feathers. "Let's go." The teacher's voice sounded ahead, not only clear, but even some echoes could be heard. It was also slow for the disciples to remember that they should have lost their hearing. The young man subconsciously followed the teacher forward, and the faint light in the distance reminded him to restore his sight.

Go straight to the source of light, young people know everything. By the time the teacher said "OK", the spell had been finished. This long spell, from the moment they entered the banyan cave "many years ago", to "nothing" just now.

This is the other end of the banyan cave.

"Let a rational person crazy, give up their own existence. This is a spell that can destroy anyone. Remember. " Bahrain's voice and appearance are as young as a few minutes ago.

Shadow photographer of the hand

Hand photographers are not very popular in circuses. Between scenes, he let the shadows of several small animals on the curtain be illuminated by spotlights. Audiences often go out to buy drinks and popcorn at this time, and the new sound effects can't make them pay more attention. But the photographer doesn't care. He only played for five minutes, which is shorter than the clown's time, but he got the same salary.

Back home, it is the photographer's own world, where he can display his true skills. Venetian chandeliers, floor lamps and even an ancient magnesium lamp were prepared for his shadow at the photographer's home. Rabbits, pigeons, owls, dogs and cats with slow flapping speed, all came alive under the irradiation of these lights. Is really alive.

The parrot talking in front of the TV is a shadow, and its dirty words often attract criticism from neighbors. Persian cats that occasionally knock over fish tanks are shadows, but fish in fish tanks are no exception. Mini-sheep and lions played chasing games on the photographer's sheets until the elephants and rhinos came out and arched their pillows under the bed, making a sound for the photographer to drive them all away. The birdsong that wakes up the photographer in the morning is slightly different almost every time, depending on the length of the beak or the line of the shoulder when the shadow is formed. Shadow Su Mu can take no newspaper, walking around in the sun will be more energetic.

The photographer and the shadow animals he created lived happily together until one day he finally turned over the animal picture book and could no longer make any subtle changes with his skilled hands. He was suddenly caught by a crazy idea and rushed to the women's clothing store on the corner downstairs before he could wake up.

Between the floor lamp and the smooth wall, he put on a skirt and high heels. Between the wide-brimmed hat and the wig, he chose to keep only the latter. The slim figure brought by vegetarian habits and the experience of learning dance in his early years made him successfully shape the shadow of a girl on the wall.

The photographer was ecstatic when he took off his costume. An ideal lover: he thought, turning on all the lights at home to celebrate. He wants to share every corner of his little world with her. He is a man, and he wants to hug her. But first, he finally has someone to have dinner with him.

The extra plate and the second knife fork are not shadows, and neither is the food. The photographer had a hard time finishing them by candlelight. Just when everything was ready, he called the hostess, only to find that she had disappeared.

There is no her anywhere. Photographers search around every light source, even without letting go of the mobile phone screen. Just as he collapsed on the bed in despair, facing another building on the balcony, he saw a shadow projected on the curtain, no, two shadows. They were only separated for a moment, and then they snuggled together tightly, but it was enough for him to recognize that it was the girl he created.

The photographer glanced at the spotlight and shone in the direction of the balcony, enough to stretch the shadow of a finger as long as a baseball bat. The high land price makes the distance between buildings here very narrow, and she can jump into the opposite window in one leap. She ran away as soon as he cooked dinner.

From midnight to early morning, the bright sky gradually faded the shadows on the curtains. The painful hand photographer never fell asleep again, and the scene of that apartment lingered. Do men know that she is a shadow? Maybe he is blind. He must be very young, like a hand-made photographer a few years ago. In his reverie, he went back to work in the circus and missed several music drums.

The situation did not improve in the next few days, and every night the photographer could see two shadows lingering through his window. During the day, the colonel mentioned the absent-minded person to the clown before he took the stage, but at last he couldn't stand it this evening.

Hand shadow teacher is generous, and it is not difficult to blend into the opposite building, but it is a bit troublesome to enter the distribution room. Before starting work, he hesitated for a moment, but remembering that it was only a few minutes ago, he was full of joy and jealousy. He lost his last self-control and pulled the switch.

On the way back to the apartment, he was a little empty, but he was sure that he was satisfied. The dark building quickly checked the power supply and the power supply was restored. The curtains are also shining, but strangely, the photographer didn't see a man who suddenly lost his lover and panicked. The room facing him is very quiet and empty.

But who cares? He punishes infidelity, doesn't he?

The next day, a hand photographer who didn't get enough sleep walked down the street. A child pointed at him and exclaimed, "Mom, look at that man!" "

The photographer looked down and remembered that he hadn't seen his shadow for a long time, and I don't know when it disappeared-maybe on the same night that the girl's shadow crossed the railing.

No wonder the mysterious figure behind the scenes is so familiar.

Dreaming of snowing troops

There are a group of soldiers in the snow. They have been there since the last battle. They had a dream when the alarm clock didn't go off early in the morning.

Dreams begin with nothing new, even dull people can't notice them. They fought the enemy in their dreams, and the other side was as unclear and endless as in reality. Fortunately, they can fill the bullet hole with ice and snow and repair the wound like a snowman. Sometimes cannons and bombs will knock them down, break their limbs and fly around. They exchanged limbs and stood up again, but they refused to die. They also asked the health worker for gauze, but only to make themselves look better. As for ammunition, there is no shortage. No matter how many times you count in your dream, things will always change the numbers. Bullets and grenades packed in wooden cases will always appear, even if no one takes them, although they are not always needed.

The winter is getting longer and longer, and they continue to move forward. None of them has reduced or met a new person. No bodies or prisoners were seen, and no reinforcements were heard.

One person suggested that we should try to wake up.

Others asked him: how can I do it?

When soldiers are in trouble, they usually go to the hygienist. The busboy's backpack is as big as he dreamed, but there are more plasma, bandages and malaria pills to burn. He said that if I could, I could give each of you a piece of morphine, but that would only make the sober people fall asleep, not the dreamer.

Surveyors who always show the way try to find the boundary of dreams on the map, but the terrain in dreams is difficult to identify, the same injured tree always appears repeatedly, and the compass often goes back on its word. Even the soldiers' own feelings are not credible, and their single-row walking is not as straight as before. The stars that occasionally appear at night have no reference value, and always turn around in the shape of machine guns, naked women and turkeys, which is full of absurdity.

The radio transceiver threw away his rifle to protect himself, which no longer made him care so much, but no one would allow him to throw away the 26-pound transmitter-although it had become an entertainment appliance in his dream, he could not contact anyone with it. The beep in the earphone even has a scale, and I have heard Schubert's The Devil.

The soldiers' greatest comfort is meal time, but it no longer comes on time. The chef cooks a piece of ice that never melts in the pot, and the soldiers' bowls are filled with steaming and tasteless snow. He complained that he couldn't cook delicious food even in his dreams without seasoning. Everyone has smokeless candles and chocolate, but their tastes are not far apart.

Only the postman didn't disappoint people, and kept digging out one letter after another from the sender and the real past. It's just that the recipient's name is vague and the soldiers have no intention of distinguishing it. Everyone shared other people's letters. Everyone has forty mothers, thirty-seven fathers, fifteen wives and twenty girlfriends, three daughters, four sons, a same-sex partner and seven different kinds of dogs.

The commander is a college student with thin fluff on his mouth. When he was promoted to lieutenant, he was reluctant and often pretended to be ill. The players don't expect him, and no one challenges his authority. The scarf given to him by his girlfriend who graduated from high school was stained by snow. The cigarette is still unlit, and everyone can see that he is in a bad mood.

But in the end, when someone answers the question, the question will be thrown at him.

How do we wake up? They asked.

Wake up and go where?

Only commanders can answer questions with questions. No one answered him, so he went on.

Back to the same endless winter? Guys, forget it.

In some days after the war, people passing by this snow may dream of them. In the dream, they are all young and as handsome as ice sculptures.

Architectural poet

Glass cleaners hang a few steel wires and a board every day to hang themselves in the air. It takes a whole week to clean a building of standard height. After deducting the three and a half hours spent on seven lunches, theoretically, I was working at other times. I have a good view when I work. In front of me are pieces of office windows like TV screens. There are different programs every few meters. Behind me is a quarter of the panoramic view of the city. You can see the uninhabited horizon, with the sky overhead and people at your feet. The glass cleaner squeezed the mop soaked in soapy water into a semi-dry, and there was not much to do. So he writes poetry.

City people leave work at dusk and come back the next morning. Sometimes you can see the water stains on the adjacent buildings reflecting huge poems in the sun. When the sun rises, the water evaporates, the poem slowly disappears, and the latecomers can't find the trace. Those lucky enough to meet will remember those poems and feel a little lucky all day.

Gradually, some people began to be dissatisfied with the accidental meeting, took leave or even quit their jobs and ran around the city looking for poems on high buildings. They often exchange the words and phrases they copied, distinguish the truth from the false, discard the dross, collect the most complete ones, and be respected by everyone. Encouraged, the newspaper began to publish the work of this unknown poet, with photos of photographers, which was quite popular. Some people say that it was written by a superhero, while others tend to think that it was written by a group ... The poet of Lou has become a hot topic, and literary critics point out that his works are ethereal in style and worth writing by people overlooking the city. The glass cleaner is as happy to keep his identity unknown as the real Spider-Man.

It will rain in the city as in other places, occasionally for many days. These days, the glass cleaner has not received a job commission, and he can no longer write poems on the glass. But since his poems have been praised by the streets, why not publish them in another way? He submitted the new poem to the newspaper and signed his real name, but the editor replied with a rejection letter, which was obviously promised in advance. I have changed several newspapers that are most keen on "creating poets", and the results are all the same. Occasionally, handwritten fonts will point out various shortcomings of his works: "rough rhetoric", "loose rhyme", "too obscure", "too straightforward" or "not high enough"

Everyone is waiting for the weather to get better, waiting for architectural poets to write new souls for the city, and no one cares about finding new people, which is understandable. Because the glass cleaner is depressed, it is excusable not to write poetry after the weather clears up. But the media and the public began to be surprised.

The rainy season took away Spider-Man who wrote poems for them, like a spider's web. People can't find them anywhere, and disappointment and many speculations spread together. Fortunately, things have turned around. The glass cleaner fell in love with a girl. In order to show his love to him, he wrote his own love poems on the outer wall of the building, like those rich people who hired planes spitting tail smoke in the sky. This was captured by the newspaper, which always kept keen, and became the declaration of the poet's return in the building.

If a love poem has no signature, at least the name of the object of praise should appear. The ubiquitous reporter searched all the "Chris" in the city and teamed up with private detectives to trace the identity of the poet. Rumor has it that even the police chief was involved in the raid-he had a father who was a literature professor and liked Emerson since he was a child.

The glass cleaner became a celebrity, and the boss of the cleaning company used him as an image spokesperson to promote his services. This puts him in an extreme dilemma: he can go down to the ground and write his poems on paper. At this time, he will never be rejected by the newspaper again, only he can't count a few zero contracts waiting; He can also continue to put on his work clothes and go to work. The producer of the TV station even encouraged him to do so, but cleaning the glass itself will never be as free as before. On the days when he doesn't want to write, fans will even occupy every room in his building, take pictures of his mop track when cleaning the glass with a camera, and go back and replay it over and over again to see if he can spell new poems.

What should a glass cleaner do?

Like a poet, he didn't suddenly cut the wire and die in the middle of his masterpiece. What we can know is that no one has ever seen a poem composed of soap and water stains on the building again. No one knows how many days later, the public enthusiasm faded, a new city hero was found elsewhere, and there was no helicopter to follow his work. I guess, at an unknown height, he took out a book with a hamburger in his mouth during the lunch break between work, wrote this poem, and waited to take it home to read to his wife after work.

consignee

On this planet, the most important thing in people's lives is the post office. Because the post office is omnipotent, everything can be delivered. Even because of this omnipotence, people have no concept of travel, because the post office can not only receive letters and parcels, but also the sender himself.

In the post office, people turn all their memories of personality, emotion, intelligence and life into a letter, seal it, entrust it to the post office, and then a body naturally belongs to the post office. At the destination of the mail, the local post office received the letter, removed a body from the warehouse, deleted the past memories, and entered everything in the letter, so it came to life and walked out of the post office door like a sender. Of course, in this world, no one cares about appearance.

Post offices, like all other post offices, often make small mistakes. The heroine of the story met once: her fiance mailed herself to her, but the post office missed the operation steps, so a body that didn't go in was taken back by the heroine. It's the body left by the previous sender. Although he has been identified elsewhere, since no one has erased his memory and the heroine is beautiful, there is no need for him to reveal his identity. Smart response, gentle attitude, even let him escape the suspicion, so he and the heroine live safely and happily together.

The quarterly post office cleaning inspection made the postman find the mistake. The missing letter was sent to the recipient in a new body, and the real fiance appeared. There was an impostor around his fiancee, which made him furious. But the two people in front of us are not simple liars and liars, they already have feelings. He even speculated that maybe his fiancee had discovered something long ago, but she didn't refuse the charm of the impostor. However, the heroine is a decent woman after all, and the appearance of genuine mail makes her feel ashamed and uneasy. She doesn't know how to choose. While the two men are hostile to each other and preparing for war, the woman has got rid of the fate of becoming a trophy-she made a dash for the door, went to the post office and surrendered herself somewhere.

Two admirers are in hot pursuit at the post office, and the privacy protection clause prevents them from inquiring about the whereabouts of their lover. The real thing made a list of destinations. He asked himself to go to the post offices in various cities one by one to inquire about the whereabouts of his fiancee, and made up his mind to find her even if he tried his best all his life. He doesn't know what kind of ending awaits him ahead-

No matter how many stops he successfully finds his lover, he will find that his rival in love has been one step ahead of him.

The impostor has fallen in love with her deeply and won't give up. He didn't send himself as a letter, but mixed it with stamps.

He has made countless copies of himself, and no matter how many copies will be lost in the warehouse of the post office, there will always be one-no matter which one-that will stay with her.