dramatic death

The first letter contained a few pages of yellowed diary paper, which looked like it had just been violently torn from some book, with messy burrs and forced torn ink marks remaining on the edges.

The young man's green handwriting carries an indelible publicity, just like a young general expanding his territory on paper.Yin Tong caressed those flamboyant handwriting, thinking that the handwriting in this diary is really different from the signature on the envelope.

Just like a person's youth and youth, the inscription on the envelope is obviously more stable.

He muttered to himself, then turned to the beginning and glanced at it.

This is a diary entry written on September 9th.

……

[December 9, sunny]

I'm sorry, but I really don't like instructors very much.

A few years ago, when that kid Wen He ran away from home, I was still gloating about his misfortune. He was forcibly bound by "the order of his parents". I heard that he was his buddy. The relationship between brothers escalated overnight, and people would tsk at every meal. The tongue commented "Made in Heaven".

Feeling embarrassed, he plunged his head into the Northwest, intending to escape reality by dedicating himself to the country.I laughed at others for being cowardly and short-tempered. If this matter happened to me, I would set someone up for me, and it would definitely disturb all the troublemakers.

Just kidding, who am I willing to stay with, what does it matter to you?

As a result, after a few years of saying this, I was cheated.

At the beginning of the month, I was thrown into this boarding school by my father. As soon as I stepped through the gate, I was taken directly to the school hospital.First the physical examination and then the review, those white coats tossed and tossed me for several hours, and then underwent a minor operation to remove the mobile terminal on my wrist.

As an Internet-addicted teenager in the central city of the new era, you can force me to study and study to serve the motherland, but you can't pinch my Internet.If I hadn’t had anesthesia, had a gag in my mouth, and was handcuffed on the operating table, I would have rushed to fight with the white coats on the spot.

However, the reality is always skinny, and I can only watch those glistening white doctors take something from my wrist, hold it with tweezers, and throw it into the tray with a "ding".

I feel like a guinea pig.

What a fuck.

But there's something even crazier.

Two hours after I got off the operating table, I was picked up from the rows of rest chairs outside the operating room and dragged into the teaching building with my elbows pinched.

It was almost dusk, and the warm orange sun was shining through the cold glass windows beside the corridor. My anesthesia had not yet passed, and my whole brain was sticky.That feeling is really not very good, as if the thinking has been stretched countless times, and it has been violently torn into a sticky gummy.

I can feel myself walking, I can see that I'm alive, I watch my blurry shadow falter on the floor like some filthy, rotting corpse.

The setting sun is like overturned tomato sauce, soaking the clean and cold ground inch by inch.No one spoke, but my ears kept buzzing, and a small voice trembled with a fragile bass, as if talking.

"look up."

I looked up and saw the boy at the end of the corridor.

He was wearing a pure white formal uniform, leaning against the window sill and looking down at the documents in his hand.The setting sun coated his neat collar with a layer of red border, dyed the little hairs in front of his eyelash feathers, trembling like shaking off fine sand.

I saw him turn his head, my figure was outlined in his clear eyes, his eyelashes trembled slightly, and then the soft sun of arse color fell into his short-lived smile.

I thought to myself, it's over, fortunately my mother left early, otherwise I would definitely have moved on when I saw this kid.

He is not beautiful, but fortunately, he has red lips and white teeth and is well-behaved. He looks like the kind of well-behaved baby that the elders like, and his appearance can arouse people's desire for protection.I was dragged and dragged into the principal's office. Before closing the door, I saw the shape of his lips saying "goodbye". ".

Ah.

I can't describe how I felt when I heard the news.

The "instructor" in this school has nothing to do with the "teacher". This position is generally held by students, and my "instructor" is the monitor of the class I will transfer to.

He was in charge of isolating me, under the banner of "mutually helping each other in daily life", he was doing activities to destroy the internal unity of the students, forbidding me to talk to others, and forbidding others to talk to me, haunting him like a ghost every day.

The most ridiculous thing is that the regulations on "instructors" are actually written in the school regulations in the hall of the teaching building, with dozens of black and white words, blatantly violating the freedom regulations established after the new era.

Simply ridiculous.

However, I couldn't refuse. I had no chance to choose at all. Since I entered this school, I have lost the right to "freedom".

The isolation I faced was not “locked up” or “refused to talk” in the traditional sense, it was more thorough, cutting off the possibility of contact with others other than the instructor.

My classmates fulfilled their duties conscientiously to complete the targets in the school regulations. They could not "see" my figure, nor could they "hear" my voice.I was like a ghost floating in the corridors, and my instructor was the only psychic in the school.

All the people who stay by my side will look away, and all the people who come towards me will unconsciously detour.I hate the xenophobia, I even want to break the bridge of the nose whenever someone walks up to me.

I can clearly feel my growing agitation, and I am clearly aware of my growing desire to resist.I began to fantasize that I stabbed the classmate next to me with a knife, and I imagined that I could trip the person behind me, and watched him fall down the stairs amidst the screams of everyone.

I began to fantasize that the instructor's eyes could stay on me all the time.

This state is very bad.

I was acutely aware that I had developed a serious dependence on him, a dependence that grew like weeds after a fire and grew wildly with the days of isolation.

But I can't help it.

I started to keep looking for topics to chat with him, and kept forcing him to look into my eyes intently.I gradually found myself living almost by his eyes, and when he looked away, I became restless like a mad lion.

I can't help it.

I try to change that, try to distract myself by calling attention to others.

I would deliberately overturn the table during class, paint the entire blackboard with red paint after dark, and steal my classmates’ textbooks and put them in the bathroom urinal, as if this would make others look at me more.But to no avail, the teachers would even write on blackboards covered in red paint, as if no one could see my pranks, and no one could see me.

I act like I don't exist.

So I deliberately broke the window at the end of the corridor, and smashed the sharp glass at the people around me.The crowd dispersed silently, no one exclaimed loudly, no one even looked back at me.

I stood in the corridor, the hand holding the glass was cut with blood, and the blood dripped from the palm of my hand, looking like a madman.

The school bell rang.

During the dozen or so seconds of my attack, no one came up to stop me from smashing the window, and no one stopped because of the sound I made.They are like a program that has been set up one after another, and I do not exist in any running node. I am redundant, meaningless, and do not exist at all. I seem to be dead, or never alive.

My "classmates" passed by me laughing and returning to the classroom to listen to the teacher read the long text.They seemed to be unable to see me, and I didn't stand out from the trash can in the corner.

"Is the environment I am in really the "real world"? Will I enter some virtual game?"

I suddenly had such a question.

The mechanical class bell echoed in the empty corridor, and I realized that the instructor was standing in front of me, holding my wrist with cool fingers.He dragged me through the noisy classrooms. We were like two transparent people, or two aliens who did not belong to this dimension.

He is the only one who can "see" me.

I can't describe my mood, my mind is blank, and there is a small voice constantly swirling and buzzing in my ears, like a radio station with unstable data.

I was taken to the school hospital by the instructor.

The young intern bandaged my wound without saying a word. Disinfectant and tweezers played back and forth in my bruised hands. I suddenly felt aggrieved. The moment I let go of my wrist, I was caught off guard.

Possessiveness grew like weeds, and I finally heard the noisy voice next to my ear. It was screaming hoarsely with the characteristic shrill voice of a child.

"You can't leave me! You can't leave me!!!"

There was a sharp pain from the wrapped wound, I grabbed the instructor's wrist and clenched my teeth so hard that I was almost jaw-dropping.My mind was in a mess, as if my thoughts were drained and filled with sticky glue. I didn't know what I should say or what I shouldn't say. I just looked at him, trembling uncontrollably.

I watched him crouch down and take my good, cold left hand in both of his.

"I'm here with you," he said.

His eyes were clear and bright, and he circled my figure without a trace of irritability.At that moment, my heart suddenly quieted down strangely, like a stuffed animal sleeping contentedly on a warm bed in its chest cavity.

I am acutely aware of my morbidity.

Like a Stockholm patient, I surrender to the first ray of sunshine after dozens of days of "darkness".I fell into the hunter's trap without knowing it, and I was still nostalgic for the "bait" in the trap

I can't escape.

I'm in prison with no way out.

……

[September 9]'s diary came to an abrupt end.

The remaining ink marks did not tell Yintong what decision "I" made, and there were only a few diary papers with no beginning and no end in the envelope, as if the story was still unfinished.

He sorted out the stack of diary papers in order, picked them up and stared at the light for a while, the warm sun in the morning passed through the glass window and left mottled spots of light on the paper, reflecting the messy ink marks also seemed to be What calligraphy masterpiece.

Yin Tong reached out and squeezed the thickness of the second letter, yawned and glanced at the time floating on his wrist.

Facts have proved that when the consciousness is not yet awake, people's vision and thinking often have a large delay.It was as if he had watched 8:59 on his wrist turn into 9:00, and was still startled by the alarm going off.

The sharp ringing echoed in the room, Yin Tong frantically turned off the alarm, slumped on the bed and looked at the ceiling above his head, heaving a long breath in shock.

At 9:00, there is only one hour left before the store opens.