dramatic death

The quartz clock on the wall made a mechanical sound. At 21:23, Yin Tong lay on the bed and looked at the pale ceiling.

About half an hour ago, he sent the courier away, fled back into the bathtub with his frozen legs, curled up and shivered for a long time, and then tried his best to dispel the cold air around his body.The air at night was humid and cold, and when he bid farewell to the bathtub and got into bed after surviving the violence of the hair dryer, the window was already so quiet that only the whistling wind remained.

He lay on the bed, looking at the small black spots wriggling in the lampshade, letting the pale light hurt his eyes, and his vision was full of messy light spots.

He doesn't think about anything, he feels tired.

Since being dragged out of the waste dump by Christie, Yintong has never had a day of leisure.No matter where he is, he seems to be standing in the center of countless sightlines. Those squirming eyeballs forcibly tore off the camouflage on his body, allowing him to be appreciated naked by onlookers.

They were sure that there was a "treasure" hidden in him, and they even tried to tear apart his flesh and blood, crushed his ribs, and rummaged through his fragile heart.

But what is a "treasure"?No one told him the answer.

He was forced to walk forward step by step, staggering as if he was experiencing an escape.He felt dazed, panicked and helpless, the road ahead was so dark that he couldn't even find his own way forward.

He sometimes feels that perhaps death is the gateway to a utopia where all tragedies end.

But he couldn't stop, countless hands pressed his head, pinched his neck, pushed his back, not allowing him to turn back.

What exactly are they looking for?

Yin Tong lay on his back on the bed, closed his eyes and stroked the blood spot on the inside of his wrist.He tried to picture the appearance of the former courier in his mind. He could remember the cool air at eight o'clock in the morning, and the loud and harsh doorbell, but he couldn't remember the other person's appearance.

His memory is like a broken water glass. The new water poured in squeezes out the remaining submerged water at the bottom of the glass, and there can only be so much left in the end.He couldn't remember the "past" three years ago, couldn't remember the reason why he was closely watched, couldn't remember the so-called "things hidden by him", and couldn't even remember who he was.

Is my name really "Yintong"? Who is "Yin Tong", and who am I?

A sharp pain suddenly appeared in his heart, as if something had pierced his chest suddenly.Yin Tong woke up from his thoughts, clutching the bed sheet and listening to the roaring heartbeat in shock.He could feel a small thing beating in his body, hitting his throbbing chest violently.

He could feel that he was still "alive".

He breathed carefully, gulping down the warm air controlled by the central air conditioner, his blurred vision passing by the red dot on his wrist, and outlining the small lamp on the bedside table next to him.

The letter he received in the evening was casually thrown under the desk lamp, and he was curled up in a corner of the bedside table at the moment, with half of his body drooping and his body precarious.

Yin Tong slowed down for a while, sat up with his body propped up, exhaled lightly, and took down the letter on the bedside table.

……

[December 10, sunny]

After my little hero was honorably wounded, all "violence" against me disappeared.

Together with the dew of that dawn, they dissipated in the scorching sun.Whether it's isolation or mischievous torture, the more than one month of suffering since I transferred to another school has come to an end.

And so it came to an abrupt end.

I don't even know where it all started.

Maybe Wen He is right. There are always people in this world who are born evil. There is no reason for their cruelty. Bullying is a matter of course. Violence is their innate instinct. Respect is more important to them than murder and arson. Disaster.

But do I deserve to be bullied?What should I do?Is it right for me to use violence to control violence?

There is no answer.

It was all over before I found the answer.

I don't even know what to do next.

But I can't stop, I have to keep going.The instructor is right, there is still a long way to go in life, if I keep standing where I am, I will never get the answer.

I want to know what's going on in this school.

I have to live, I am not reconciled.

Thankfully, not everything in this world is hopelessly ridiculous.After the three phases of treatment, the medical cabin healed the instructor's injuries well. Although he was still far from being alive and kicking, it was more than enough to return to his daily study life.

He seemed to have been bored for a long time, and when he opened the cage, he wanted to go straight to the sky immediately. The classmates in the class warmly welcomed his return, and the overwhelming chalk dust buried him in the shower for three hours.

When he came out of the bathroom, he looked extremely aggrieved.

I couldn't help laughing out loud, and was punished with a brutal tickle.He jumped up from the bed and sat on my waist, pressed my shoulders and stretched out his claws with a wicked smile. His smiling eyes were as clear as sugar water in the sun at a very close distance, while I avoided his scratching While reaching out to touch his eyelashes, those flickering thin wings are like two small brushes, trembling and teasing the palm of my hand.

He laughed suddenly, and then rushed forward and hugged me.

His hair was still damp, and the lemon mint shampoo exuded a clean aroma.I lay on my back on the bed with my pillow on his shoulder and looked at the ceiling. I suddenly regretted why I thought the lighting was too glaring, so I only turned on the small warm yellow lamp beside the bed.

So much so that the atmosphere was so ambiguous that even his breathing made my ears slightly hot.

"You are already very good," I heard him say, "I didn't dare to talk much when I first transferred to another school, but you still have the courage to turn the classroom into a Colosseum."

He seemed to remember something, he smiled lightly and rubbed against my shoulder like a small animal, he praised me again in a low voice, then he wrapped his arms around my waist and asked softly: "Persist a little longer, okay? "

I tightened my arms to hug him.

I don't know what I'm thinking, the grievance and sourness in my heart are hard to explain, I hear his heartbeat beating slowly, as if I have imprisoned him in my heart.

So I nodded and replied in my heart.

it is good.

As long as you don't leave me, everything is fine.

However, the reality is not as simple as I promised.

My situation is still on the verge of embarrassment. Fortunately, group life is no longer the focus of my existence. As long as the instructor is still by my side, I can ignore all exclusion and isolation.

Occasionally, I still think of my assumptions about "virtual" and "reality", and occasionally guess the so-called "hidden forces" behind the campus. I am always open-minded like an ordinary high school student. Unfortunately, I no longer had the idea of ​​being a hero.

Occasionally I dream of my father. I don't reject him so much anymore. He is a respectable person, although he doesn't love me.

Heroes always have something to praise, don't they?There is no law that says they have to be perfect.

However, I am doomed to be a villain who drags on an ignoble existence.

I often think about how it all started, why I was sent to this school.In the evening of that midsummer, I hacked into my father’s mobile terminal in order to keep my father behind. In just half an hour when he was looking for someone to repair the terminal, I was in second grade and ignorant and answered a call on his behalf.

On the opposite side of the phone is a middle-aged man in a white coat. The light is dim. He seems to be hiding in some kind of narrow storage cabinet, spying on the situation outside through the gap between the vents on the cabinet.

He didn't notice that the wrong person answered the phone, maybe he didn't have time to care.

"They said this is a great plan to save mankind," the middle-aged man gasped heavily and lowered his voice, "Using the death of a small part of the low-end population to save most of mankind can not only obtain realistic sample data but also It can classify and calculate the future development trend, and kill three birds with one stone without losing money.”

The middle-aged man's tone was somewhat mocking, he smiled with the corners of his mouth pulled, and sat down by the cupboard door with difficulty: "They believe that 'eve' is a creation of God, and they are convinced of the 'end of the world' calculated by that guy. No doubt. They think that what they are doing is a great event for the benefit of mankind, and they even set up a foundation to clearly mark the price, so that the poor will willingly send their children as guinea pigs in exchange for a steady stream of subsidies."

"The advertisement is high-sounding, and human experiments are being done behind the scenes. Some people actually believe that children are sent here for elite education. Just kidding, how can there be an elite school where 'once sent in, we can never meet again'."

"They were afraid that we would speak out, so they kidnapped the relatives of everyone in the project team, and even stuffed our children directly into the experimental base."

"Cheng Hao's son is only two years old," the middle-aged man sighed, he still did not look at the light screen, curled up in the shadow of the storage cabinet, like a dying old man, "This is retribution, we How many people have been killed by the drugs developed? This is our retribution."

"I didn't make a sound. I didn't make a sound when the first injection was injected into the experimental product. I didn't make a sound when the first human experiment was completed." He laughed twice, "So now, my son is lying on the bed. on the test bench."

"I'm not a good father, and that kid shouldn't atone for me."

The voice of the middle-aged man stopped abruptly.

He turned his head and saw me from the mobile terminal, then slowly widened his eyes, his pale face showed a hint of astonishment, I heard a subtle explosion sound coming from the opposite side of the terminal, the middle-aged man seemed to have thought of it What, slumped in the storage cabinet, let out a hoarse laugh from a bellows-like throat.

"Retribution," he smiled, tears rolled out of his bloodshot eyes suddenly, "this is retribution."

In less than three days, I received the admission letter from this school.

During the time when I transferred to another school, I thought about the meaning of this school more than once. I wanted to do something great like a hero, but the reality proved that I was just an ant who was trampled on.

I have no power, no right to reverse the facts, and everything on which individual heroism depends is to me nothing but a pipe dream.

I know I'm in a bad mood right now.

The instructor also discovered my problem, and I began to keep silent frequently, consciously avoiding any occasions that required communication. I still relied on him and trusted him, but I didn’t want to imprison him with the distorted thoughts in my heart.

I don't want to tell him anything, I just want him to look at me, to see the obedient and sensible me.

I don't want to be "nobody's kid".

I began to thank the school for its decision. I couldn't imagine if the instructor assigned to me in the first place hadn't been him, I would have died with that substitute now.I am not a good person, I know this well, in countless sleepless nights I have been counting down the time until I collapse, and there are less than two years left, I don't know if I can hold on.

……

After reading the last line in the diary, Yin Tong lay on his back on the bed and exhaled slowly. His stomach throbbed with no food to soothe, and there was a stream of sour water. He turned over by pressing his abdomen as usual, bent Bend down, curled up in a soft blanket.

He closed his eyes and let out a breath, then reached out and patted off the light on the bedside table.

The night in Central City is quiet and silent, and even the slightest moonlight cannot be seen through the curtains.Yin Tong closed his eyes and was wrapped in a soft quilt. He could feel the faint itching of the cloth sliding across his waist, and he could even hear the sound of breathing passing through his nasal cavity.

He felt noisy, and there were waves of inexplicable irritability and fear in his heart.He vaguely felt that someone was watching him intently, in this room, in the dark, lying on the edge of his bed.

With a gaze that is almost greedy.

He can feel, he can always feel something inexplicable.It was like the moment he read the diary, he knew that the owner of the diary must not have "persisted".

This inexplicable sixth sense was confirmed the next morning.

In the sixth letter Yintong received, the owner of the diary wrote.

[10 month 26 day]

[Tan laughs to death. 】