我对于存在主义文学始终怀有难言的情愫。作为加缪的粉丝，在此我斗胆作此短篇，向加缪致敬。不常使用中文写作，因而正文使用英文尔后翻译。
Dream
梦
Waking up at eleven o’clock gives me a headache. I headed out for a cigarette, clumsily stumbling through the hallway with my half-opened eyes. The hallway had always smelled like weed regardless of time. The staircase is quiet like a regular morning like nobody has ever lived in this building before.
十一点起床叫人头痛。我笨拙地穿过走道，眼睛都睁不开，想出门抽根烟。走道不管什么时候都闻着像大麻。楼道就如以往的早晨一样安静，似乎这栋楼都没住过人一样。
Well, the weather was unexpectedly nice but I’m not going to spend more words on it anyways. People were walking and talking with such tiny voice, lest they would disturb anyone. Smoke, with its angelic wings, rejoiced from dancing like a ballerina. Her soft steps and gentle gestures delighted my entire morning; faintly, I could even hear some Tchaikovsky playing. She tiptoed in the air and raised her arms, slicing off some arcs in the air with the snow-white skirt. The dancer sometimes leaped with astounding force, sometimes turned with gentle elegance. She discolored all other colors in my sight. As like nothing matters in this magnificent world of dream, she kept hoofing on and on.
嗯，天气很好，但我不想多说废话。人们行着、走着又小声交谈，唯恐惊扰了谁似的。烟雾带着天使般的翅膀如芭蕾演员般翩翩起舞。她轻巧的舞姿给我的整个早晨带来了欢快；我甚至能隐约间听见谁奏响了柴可夫斯基。她穿着雪白的短裙惦着脚尖行于空中，挥舞的手划出一道道弧线。舞者时而以惊人的力量跳跃，时而轻快优雅地转身。她斑驳了我视野里的五颜六色。就好像这广大、梦幻的世界也无所谓一样，她继续起舞、起舞。
But her life had ended like everything else would. This transient tranquility thus disappeared in the air, as if nothing had existed before. The lovely dream was shattered to pieces of air. I put off the cigarette, returning……
但她的生命终究迎来了所有一切都必要面临的终结。短暂的平静在空气里消散，就如什么都没有发生过一样。可爱的梦在破碎成了空中的碎片。我掐灭了烟，回家去了......
It’s completely different at night here. You wouldn’t even be able to imagine what this arena looks like on Friday night. Bustling people hail and holler around the block. Indistinct words are uttered with ecstasy and excitement. Now it’s almost three o’clock in the morning, I’m smoking again, watching these jubilating people. They come with excitement and go with nothing left but emptiness for whomever willing to pick it up.
这里的晚上却是另一番光景。你根本不能想象周五晚上这唱台是如何情景。欢呼的人群在大街小巷大呼小叫。听不清的声音夹携着狂喜和兴奋。现在就快凌晨三点了，我又在抽烟，注视这狂欢的人群。他们带着欣喜行在街上，只留下愿者自取的空虚地离去了。
Yet why does any of this matter? Every enchanting evening leaves a meaningless morning. Under this gigantic throng of revelry, there is only eternal emptiness in this journey of exile. Everyone is sentenced to death since the exact moment of their birth. In this very chamber which I have spent many nights, I now will declare myself an idle dream. Endless it is, with endless light and darkness. My consciousness is escaping, so I’ll wish you a good night; whenever it is now, enjoy your dream.
但这又如何？每一个迷人的夜晚都会留下无意义的早晨。在这巨大的欢喜盛宴之下，只有永恒的空虚在这流放之行中。所有人在出生的那一刻都被判了死刑。现在我在这度过几多夜晚的房间里，将为自己宣告一个慵懒的梦。无尽的梦，其中有无尽的光明和黑暗。我的意识在抽离了，所以我要祝您晚安；不论现在几点，做个美梦吧。
