终末之诗--原文及翻译

End Poem

终末之诗

I see the player you mean.

我见到来人了。

[Player name]?

他来了？

Yes. Take care. It has reached a higher level now. It can read our thoughts.

嗯，但他已今非昔比：此刻他能轻易地洞见你我的内心。

That doesn't matter. It thinks we are part of the game.

没关系，他以为我们是剧本的旁白。

I like this player. It played well. It did not give up.

我喜欢这位旅人，他尽心尽力，永不言弃。

It is reading our thoughts as though they were words on a screen.

他眼下正通过荧屏上行行文字旁听着我们的谈话。

That is how it chooses to imagine many things, when it is deep in the dream of a game.

哈，在醉心于梦时，他常常以此渲染出动人的景象。

Words make a wonderful interface. Very flexible. And less terrifying than staring at the reality behind the screen.

嗯，文字创造了一个简洁灵动的界面，要好过那个纷纷扰扰的现实。

They used to hear voices. Before players could read. Back in the days when those who did not play called the players witches, and warlocks. And players dreamed they flew through the air, on sticks powered by demons.

不过，在他们开始”读“之前，仅仅是在”听“而已。想当年，那些不曾做梦的人们叫他们巫师与术士，只因为他们觉得自己可以驾驭着飞天扫帚，在梦境与现实的夹缝中飞舞。

What did this player dream?

可是他——梦见什么？

This player dreamed of sunlight and trees. Of fire and water. It dreamed it created. And it dreamed it destroyed. It dreamed it hunted, and was hunted. It dreamed of shelter.

他梦见草长莺飞的二月春光，梦见水火交融的抑扬乐章，梦见世界在指间延展，也梦见天地暗无日光。他梦见家门口温暖的篝火，也梦见战场与杀伐四方。

Hah, the original interface. A million years old, and it still works. But what true structure did this player create, in the reality behind the screen?

哈，这界面在历史的跑道上奔驰了千百万年，依旧健步如飞。可在梦的彼岸，旅者们又织就了怎样的“真”呢？

It worked, with a million others, to sculpt a true world in a fold of the [scrambled], and created a [scrambled] for [scrambled], in the [scrambled].

难以言表。他所能理解的仅仅是与无数个同伴在为生存奔波罢了。

It cannot read that thought.

唉，他理解不了更多。

No. It has not yet achieved the highest level. That, it must achieve in the long dream of life, not the short dream of a game.

是啊，虽然现在正是车旅蚁穴、黍熟黄粱之时，可这短短的一梦尚不足以闻道啊。我想，只有在荧屏的彼岸品味过生命的长梦，才能在夜气方回时有别样的感怀吧。

Does it know that we love it? That the universe is kind?

但他能理解这世界的关怀吗？就像我们清楚我们爱他那样？

Sometimes, through the noise of its thoughts, it hears the universe, yes.

他能。透过思想的杂音，他有时能听见宇宙的低语。

But there are times it is sad, in the long dream. It creates worlds that have no summer, and it shivers under a black sun, and it takes its sad creation for reality.

尽管如此，在那彼岸的长梦里，酸楚的泪水也多过欢喜的笑颜。他有时会在心中创造永远的寒冬，躲在阴暗的角落里抽泣。他有时甚至会把这暂时的痛苦当作生命的全部。

To cure it of sor