The Port of Words (2024 Pirika Autumn Award Winner)

The old man was looking at the sea through the window.
The ripples left behind after the "iron ship" departed accentuated the silence of the port.

Once, the old man had worked at this port.
Among the cargo carried in one after another, countless letters crowded together, chattering away.

Letters were drawn to other letters and became words.

Letters that were good friends became stories.
Letters that loved each other became poems.
Letters that wanted to work away from home became information.

He would gently pick up the joined words.
One by one, he would place them onto "paper ships."
From early morning until sunset, he would focus solely on this task.
That was his job.

The color of the ship would change according to the words that boarded it.

Stories were the color of a forest.
Poems were the color of the morning glow.
Information was the color of gold.

He would watch the departing "paper ships" until they crossed the horizon.

At one point, someone brought in an "iron ship."
The "iron ship" could carry many words at once.
And it could reach its destination quickly.

The first ones to want to board the "iron ship" were the pieces of information.
"If we arrive quickly, we can earn more."

Stories and poems also gradually began to want to board the "iron ship."
"We want to reach someone even faster."

He had no way to stop them.

The words happily boarded the "iron ship."
Even when they boarded the "iron ship," their colors did not change.
It took all the words at once and departed in the blink of an eye.

There were no more words left to board the paper ships.

The old man was remembering everything that had happened until now.
Then, he heard a whispering voice from outside the window.

"Excuse me."
He found two small letters that had become a poem.

"How can I help you?"
"Thank you for letting us board a paper ship during our honeymoon."

He didn't remember, as he had once loaded countless words onto ships.

"Thank you for coming all this way, so, what brings you here today...?"
"We want you to board a paper ship with us."

The old man was surprised.
"With me...?"

The "paper boat" only bent slightly even when the old man boarded it.
They set sail on a moonlit night.
The "paper boat" turned the color of the morning glow.

The sea continued on and on, forever.
The sky deepened into darkness, then eventually brightened, and the morning sun shone through.

The poem whispered to the old man.
"I wanted you to see this."
"Me...?"
"You have always been the one just seeing us off, haven't you?"

The old man looked up and surveyed his surroundings.
Countless "paper boats" had gathered at the pier.
The words had bled into the "paper boats," becoming one with them.

And countless colors spread from one edge of his vision to the other.

The color of melting butter, the color of twilight, the color of flames, the color of sunlight filtering through trees, violet, the color of mist, the color of the horizon...

"During our long journey, we change our colors."

The old man picked up a "paper boat" the color of the horizon.
The characters were blurred like this.

The person at the port of words
Does not yet know our colors

The poem said quietly,
"Everyone here wants to be read by you."

To read all the words in the "paper boats" here.
That became the old man's final job.

Surely, even if it took a lifetime, it would never end.

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