Yi Xing

This year's summer is a bit too unreal.

The sun was so hot that the hoarse cicadas at that time were also forced to die down by the scorching heat. Only the fog cannon was left mechanically spraying water vapor into the sky in a repeated melody. It also knew that this was just a futile self-consumption. The song became more and more embarrassing, and the white mist would dissipate in the floating dust as soon as it left the nozzle.

I was born in summer, but I don't like summer the least.

When I was six years old, I was sitting in the back seat of my car holding the Tyrannosaurus rex model that my parents gave me, imagining that I was also a predator standing at the top of the food chain, and my breath would scare the human beings who copied me into panic flee.

Mom smiled and turned to talk to me, I guess she wanted me to be less cruel, like always.

Actually, I'm not that cruel, I just want to warn them that a sheep can't feed me.

Facts have proved that it is not me who is cruel, but life or fate. They let me see the dripping blood at the most innocent age of a child, and forced me to face death.

My mom and dad died in a car accident and my T-Rex was covered in blood.

Later, I never wiped off the stains on the model, because I think it may be the only thing that can prove that my biological parents, they have really lived, although I don't know whether the blood on it is theirs It's still mine.

A traffic police uncle broke the car window and carried me out of the shackles of the deformed rear seat, and then pressed my head in his arms to prevent me from seeing the too tragic scene.

The temperature was too high that day, and I later learned that it was the result of the accelerated thermal movement of molecules. The strong smell of blood violently overwhelmed the smell of sweat in his blue uniform, and rushed straight into my nasal cavity.

Although I didn't see the death of my parents under his protection, I could clearly smell the smell of death.

I want to teach my kind mother must be a very gentle person, and my father must also be a good person, but the god of death doesn't care what kind of temperament the person he takes away, he just keeps going according to his preferences. Wielding a scythe, he is as cruel as fate.

I used to cry for my innocent parents and my tragic fate, but I also gradually realized that tears can't change anything.

The traffic police uncle who carried me out later became my adoptive father. He is also a very kind and upright person, otherwise he would not have sacrificed his job.

This once again confirms the proposition I have been thinking about since I was six years old—whether a person can have a good death has nothing to do with whether he does good deeds.

So at 16 I became an orphan again.

The extreme cruelty of fate does not lie in how much it hurts you, but in that it puts you in the position of a victim, but does not allow the victim to complain.

It gave me a slap and rewarded me with a sweet date.

For example, when I was six years old, I had an honest and kind father immediately after losing my parents. When I was sixteen, after losing my adoptive father, I found my relatives -- my uncle, aunt and cousin.

I have always had a good growing environment, a good material life and full love. These are probably sweet dates given to me by fate.

I can't resent anything, my biological mother taught me to be a kind person, and my adoptive father has always reinforced this concept, a kind person cannot complain about the unfairness of fate, and I have no right to accuse - there are still displaced people in this world As long as there are people who are more miserable than me, I have no right to cry out.

What is fair?

I have good looks, good brain power, and received a high-quality education. Despite my miserable life experience, I am the lucky one in other people's mouths.

I'm the last person to blame the rules.