There is something so contrived abo

There is something so contrived about winter. It’s long, and bits of warmth are stolen from fabrications of man. Evelyn always favored the warmer months, and on days like this she savored every replenishing kiss of sunlight as it heated through her clothes and hugged her in a way her skin desperately needed.
For once, her feet simply trotted over ground with no direction as to where she should go next. Sharp, white blades of sky blurred the tops of buildings as she wandered aimlessly through the streets of Folsom. It was barely noon and she had hours to spare before her lesson, before Lucian finished work, before . . . anything.
Her body sunk into a bench, its metal planks forcing her posture into a pose she had no energy to hold. This dogged existence of climbing from one ladder to the next was wearing out her limits. She ached to crawl out of her skin and be someone else for a day.
People steadily passed in cars and on foot. She watched in a clouded form of wonderment. Where were they going? What did they do? Was there a purpose to their day? It all appeared convoluted and arbitrary at the same time.
Feeling like she’d run a marathon a lifetime long, she welcomed this jumbled form of inertia. Maybe Lucian was right. Maybe she was burning herself out, trying to cram too much in. Outlasting all else was her desire to be on par with others. She was twenty-three years behind in the game, and her struggle to catch up was beating her down like an iron fist.
It wasn’t fair. None of it was. Her life was a peephole, a tiny snippet of skewed reality that flipped upside down in the blink of an eye. Lowering her lashes, she eased her head back, drawing warmth from the rays that warmed her cheeks and the bridge of her nose. Her mind traipsed over sporadic clips of her past, visiting some longer than others for no reason in particular, clinging to certain specific memories.
“Wait. He’s a big coward!” Evelyn recalled her outrage at having borne the entire length of L. Frank Baum’s The Wonderful Wizard of Oz. “It’s all fake.” She shifted from her seat on the carpet of the library. Her back ached from lounging against the jagged bookcase display.
Parker folded the paperback over his thumb and frowned. “Well, it’s fiction, Scout.”
“Then why didn’t they make him real?”
“Because that’s not the way the story’s written.”
Her disappointment was a cramp in her heart. “He’s just a man.”
“It’s symbolic.”
Her lips twisted derisively. “Symbolic of what? How disappointing all their hard work to reach Oz is?”
“No. It’s a metaphor. All the pomp and fanfare, it’s all just glitz to disguise normal men. He’s just an ordinary man.”
“Exactly.”
Parker crossed his legs, tucking the book beneath his knee. The fabric was torn there much like she imagined the legs of the wilted scarecrow. Cynically, she said, “None of them even knew. The little dog figured it out.”
“Maybe they didn’t want to know. Maybe they wanted to hope there was something more out there, a man so powerful he had the ability to change their fate,” Parker argued.
“Maybe this book doesn’t make any sense.”
“It’s a fairy tale. It doesn’t have to make sense.”
But she wanted it to, desperately. She wanted to join the band traveling along the yellow brick road and be taken away to a better place. “Fairy tales are supposed to be happy.”
“Maybe that’s what makes this such a popular story, that it isn’t wrapped up in unattainable perfection. It’s flawed because there is no real magic, but the magic of an ordinary man willing to tell the people they’re more than ordinary travelers. Do you want me to keep reading?”
“Why bother? They went all that way for some measly trinkets. I don’t get why they’re so happy.”
“Because they were seeking validation,” Parker said as if she were missing the whole point. Maybe she was. “Their struggles are representative of the journey every person makes. There’s confusion and mishaps and villains along the way, but in the end it’s up to each individual to get where they want to be. We don’t need wizards or magic. That’s the point of it all. We just have to try and we’ll eventually get there in some form or another.”
Evelyn blinked through the blinding sun that bleached the darkness from the shade of her eyelids. She felt like Dorothy: lost, alone, meeting strange people along the way. When Parker finally finished the book, it had all been just a dream. Maybe that’s all they all were—dreams in the mind of some superior being.
Could you dream up something a little easier?
Sighing, she pushed herself off the bench and looked at the time on her phone. 12:47. She counted the cash in her pocket and decided to make use of her time until Jason came at three. Hailing a cab, she made up her mind to visit Pearl.

Hasil (Bahasa Indonesia) 1:

There is something so contrived about winter. It’s long, and bits of warmth are stolen from fabrications of man. Evelyn always favored the warmer months, and on days like this she savored every replenishing kiss of sunlight as it heated through her clothes and hugged her in a way her skin desperately needed.For once, her feet simply trotted over ground with no direction as to where she should go next. Sharp, white blades of sky blurred the tops of buildings as she wandered aimlessly through the streets of Folsom. It was barely noon and she had hours to spare before her lesson, before Lucian finished work, before . . . anything.Her body sunk into a bench, its metal planks forcing her posture into a pose she had no energy to hold. This dogged existence of climbing from one ladder to the next was wearing out her limits. She ached to crawl out of her skin and be someone else for a day.People steadily passed in cars and on foot. She watched in a clouded form of wonderment. Where were they going? What did they do? Was there a purpose to their day? It all appeared convoluted and arbitrary at the same time.Feeling like she’d run a marathon a lifetime long, she welcomed this jumbled form of inertia. Maybe Lucian was right. Maybe she was burning herself out, trying to cram too much in. Outlasting all else was her desire to be on par with others. She was twenty-three years behind in the game, and her struggle to catch up was beating her down like an iron fist.Itu tidak adil. Tidak ada itu. Hidupnya adalah lubang, potongan kecil bias realitas yang membalik terbalik dalam sekejap mata. Menurunkan dia bulu mata, ia menyelinap kembali kepala, menggambar kehangatan dari sinar yang dihangatkan pipinya dan jembatan hidungnya. Pikiran traipsed atas sporadis klip nya masa lalu, mengunjungi beberapa lagi daripada yang lain tanpa alasan khususnya, menempel kenangan khusus tertentu."Menunggu. Dia adalah seorang pengecut besar!" Evelyn ingat dia kemarahan di memiliki borne seluruh panjang L. Frank Baum Wizard indah dari Oz. "semua palsu." Dia bergeser dari kursinya di karpet Perpustakaan. Kembali sakit dari bermalas-malasan di terhadap tampilan rak buku bergerigi.Parker dilipat paperback atas ibu jari dan disukai. "Yah, itu adalah fiksi, Scout.""Maka mengapa tidak mereka membuatnya nyata?""Karena itu bukan jalan cerita yang ditulis."Kekecewaan nya adalah kram dalam hatinya. "Ia adalah hanya seorang laki-laki.""Ini simbolik."Bibirnya twisted ketus. "Simbol dari apa? Bagaimana mengecewakan semua kerja keras mereka untuk mencapai Oz?""No. Ini adalah metafora. Semua kemegahan dan gembar-gembor, ini adalah semua hanya glitz untuk menyamarkan pria normal. Dia adalah orang yang biasa.""Tepat."Parker menyeberangi kakinya, menyelipkan buku di bawah lutut. Kain terkoyak ada banyak seperti Dia membayangkan kaki orang-orangan sawah yang layu. Sinis, dia berkata, "tidak satupun dari mereka bahkan tahu. Anjing kecil figured it out.""Mungkin mereka tidak mau tahu. Mungkin mereka ingin berharap ada sesuatu yang lebih luar sana, seorang pria yang begitu kuat dia memiliki kemampuan untuk mengubah nasib mereka,"berpendapat Parker."Mungkin buku ini tidak masuk akal apapun.""Itu adalah dongeng. Itu tidak masuk akal."Tapi dia ingin itu, mati-matian. Dia ingin bergabung dengan band yang bepergian di sepanjang jalan batu bata kuning dan dibawa ke tempat yang lebih baik. "Dongeng seharusnya bahagia.""Mungkin itu adalah apa yang membuat ini begitu populer cerita, itu bukan terbungkus dalam kesempurnaan tak terjangkau. Cacat karena tidak ada sihir yang nyata, tapi keajaiban orang biasa yang bersedia untuk memberitahu orang-orang mereka sedang lebih dari biasa wisatawan. Apakah Anda ingin saya untuk terus membaca?""Mengapa repot-repot? Mereka pergi semua jalan untuk beberapa pernak-pernik yang sangat sedikit. Aku tidak mengerti mengapa mereka begitu bahagia.""Karena mereka sedang mencari validasi," Parker mengatakan seolah-olah dia telah hilang seluruh titik. Mungkin dia. "Perjuangan mereka adalah wakil dari perjalanan yang membuat setiap orang. Ada kebingungan dan kecelakaan dan penjahat sepanjang jalan, tetapi pada akhirnya itu terserah kepada setiap individu untuk mendapatkan mana mereka ingin menjadi. Kita tidak perlu ahli sihir atau sihir. Itu adalah titik dari semua. Kita hanya perlu mencoba dan kita akhirnya akan mendapatkan tidak dalam beberapa bentuk atau lain."Evelyn berkedip melalui matahari menyilaukan yang dikelantang kegelapan dari bawah naungan kelopak nya. Dia merasa seperti Dorothy: hilang, sendirian, bertemu orang-orang aneh sepanjang jalan. Ketika Parker akhirnya selesai buku, semua sudah hanya mimpi. Mungkin itulah mereka semua — mimpi dalam pikiran beberapa yang superior.Bisa Anda bermimpi sesuatu yang sedikit lebih mudah?Mendesah, dia mendorong dirinya dari bangku cadangan dan memandang waktu di telepon. 12:47. dia menghitung uang tunai di saku nya dan memutuskan untuk membuat penggunaan waktu sampai Jason datang di tiga. Memanggil taksi, dia membuat pikirannya untuk mengunjungi Pearl.