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灿烂美丽的烟花，是为了庆祝用的。别人庆祝的，往往是令人开怀的喜事，而她庆祝的，却是一种深深的悲哀。 She started in the bathroom. She put the shaving brush, the disposable razor, the toothbrush and the dental floss in a large black bin bag.[1] Then she moved to the bedroom. She picked up the laundry basket and deposited its entire contents into the bag.[2] She opened a drawer and cleared out the underwear.[3] By now her movements were becoming more frantic[4]. She went to the wardrobe and filled another three bags with suits, shirts, ties, jeans, jogging pants, sweaters and shoes.[5] She pulled out the boxes from under the bed and removed the junk that had collected there. Downstairs, she rifled through the CD’s, and after that the books; the graphic novels, thrillers, travel companions, computer guides and poetry anthologies.[6] Then, without coming up for air, she moved on to the photo albums and the letters and the framed pictures and the small porcelain gifts.[7] All of it she bagged and binned, ready for tomorrow’s collection. Finally, she went out to the shed[8]. There she found the toolbox and assorted DIY equipment, and trashed the lot.[9] She searched the shelves and drawers for any other items to dispose of, and in the bottom of a cupboard, beneath the gardening gloves, she discovered them. It was her 40th birthday, and he had bought her fireworks to celebrate. But she never set them off[10] because he had been called away to a conference in Sweden and she was left alone. So now, five months later, they had shown up. She looked at them for a minute, feeling some kind of sadness. Then she threw them in the dustbin along with those tools. Back in the house, she poured herself a brandy and sank down exhausted on the sofa. | 
