Member-only story
The Boy Who Collected Sunsets
Every evening, right before the sky turned orange, a boy would climb the hill behind the train station carrying a glass jar.
He would sit quietly, facing the horizon, opening the jar as if trying to catch something which, to any other eye, was invisible.
"He thinks he's collecting sunsets," people would whisper.
They laughed, but he never seemed to care. Instead, he would stare at the sky as if trying to recall a forgotten memory.
One day, an aged woman sat beside him. "What do you do with them?" she asked.
He raised the jar. Inside, something glowed, softly, warmly: faint, gentle…like a memory.
"I forgot what color felt like when my mom died; so I started saving it," he replied.
The woman said nothing; she just watched the sky with him as the sun quietly went down.
The boy was long gone years later, but now, the children still come to this hill with jars—perhaps for fun, or perhaps for something else.
And the sky still glows, awaiting a memory.
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