Madness ecstasy

"Oh, you're so stupid, no wonder you can't listen to me."

The head is more like a huge hollow sugar ball. Apart from the sweet body fluids, there is no tofu-like brain tissue inside.

There was no response: as the head was destroyed, the radio fell completely silent.

-

squeak-

The bedroom door slowly opened, and a cluster of dim light streamed out.

"Are you asleep, son?"

Dad knocked on the door, then turned on the ceiling light in Doudou's bedroom; he stood there, his body a little hunched - Doudou had never seen such a gentle smile on his face as the one he had now: even with sadness and love.

My mother also turned sideways, squeezing a corner of her body into the room. She wiped the corners of her eyes with the edge of her palm, her pockets bulging:

"Baby? Mommy made you a midnight snack earlier, eat something now."

They seemed to have not noticed the small corpse that had just appeared at Doudou's feet - the remains of the skull.

Doudou wiped the sticky fluids on his body again, then used his foot to sweep the mess under the bed.

"Okay."

He turned off the light in the bedroom and walked into the living room:

Doudou saw what his father was holding in his hand - on the mahogany gun body, there were two shiny barrels side by side, reflecting the light.

-

Chapter 3 Doudou and Dad's Shotgun

This is Dad's double-barreled shotgun: it's registered and has a license; the model written on the license is Beretta 626 Sport.

"Ah! Did you go target practice today?"

Dad always took Mom out for target practice on weekends; he never planned to bring Doudou along. This was the first time he held the hunting rifle in front of Doudou, letting them examine it together.

Dad suddenly reached out his hand, patted Doudou's shoulder, and squeezed it gently:

"Oh, oh. If only we had succeeded before, if only you were a good kid."

Doudou didn't know what to say, nor did he want to look his father in the eye. So he lowered his head and looked at his feet:

He didn't understand what his father meant by success and the past. But in fact, he felt that he should be considered a good child.

Then he saw the black barrel of the Beretta 626, slanting from top to bottom against his chest.

boom!

Gunshots rang out.

The bullet didn't exit Doudou's back, but the impact still exceeded his weight—he spun in mid-air, like a kicked rag doll, before crashing into the pile of scrap paper and textbooks in the corner of the living room. A double-barreled shotgun shouldn't have such a powerful impact. Doudou's father had adjusted the charge in the buckshot.

boom!

Another gunshot rang out. The books and papers that had just been floating in the air were blown into a haze of flying catkins, like a blizzard in the room; the twelve-gauge buckshot passed through them and hit Doudou's torso again, sending him flying:

"turn!"

Doudou's father's eyes bulged outwards, their whites covered in spiderwebs of red. He let out a saliva-filled roar from his throat, then slammed his left fist down on the barrel of the gun, causing it to bend downwards, ejecting two bullet casings enveloped in thick white smoke.

Da, da--

boom!

The bright red shell with a hint of gold on the tail had just landed when it was drowned out by another sharp explosion.

The one who took over the suppressing shooting position was Doudou’s mother.

Tap/bang! Tap/bang! Tap/bang! Tap/bang! Tap/bang!

Still wearing the high heels she'd worn home, she leaned toward Doudou, knees slightly bent. Every time her heels hit the tile floor, there was a crack of a bullet. Doudou's mother held her right arm almost straight, slightly bent at the elbow. Her left hand, acting as a support, held her index finger straight, aligning the front sight, rear sight, and Doudou's head.

The Smith & Wesson M586-2 spewed flames, and the .38 caliber bullets fired from the revolver drew straight lines again and again, hitting Doudou's mouth, neck and forehead.

Tap/bang!

"We've launched more than half of it!"

The M586-2 only has a seven-round magazine, and four have already been fired: Doudou's mother's reminder to her husband sounded more like a sobbing whine. Tears welled up in her eyes, blurring her vision; but at this shooting distance, precise aiming was no longer necessary.

呼：

Doudou rose from the pile of waste paper in the corner.

-

Like a puppet pulled by invisible strings——

Doudou's body remained straight, but with his heels as the axis, he rose as if floating, and stood up again from his supine position:

He stood there. Though his body was tiny, less than 160 centimeters tall, the flashlight rolling across the floor cast a shadow that filled the entire room.

The pajamas he was wearing had long since been torn and shattered into loose pieces; the skin on his chest was covered with bloody wounds, some of the larger ones had even peeled off the entire skin, revealing the struggling fascia and muscle bundles.

.

38-caliber bullets were lodged in Doudou's forehead, cheeks, and mouth. A wide, long gash had been torn open at the corner of his mouth, revealing his exposed gums and baby teeth, which had yet to be replaced.

He used his fingertips to pick the bullet tip from his forehead and rubbed it in his hand. On his face, half covered in red, he showed an awkward yet puzzled smile; due to the tear in his mouth, his voice was filled with a hissing sound:

"What's going on here?"

In Doudou's left hand, he held a red, wet ball. It was just a crumpled piece of manuscript paper, but soaked with Doudou's blood, it felt heavy in his hand, like a lighter sandbag.

He flicked his five fingers lightly and made a ball-tossing motion with one hand:

call--

This red and gray ball of paper seemed to have no time to fly, but had already stopped on Dad's face the moment it appeared - and it was almost embedded in the middle of his face.

The man's facial features sank inward, the cartilage of his nose snapping in an instant, turning into a flat, soft mass. Several broken teeth flew up along with the blood, scattering everywhere.

Doudou's mother heard the crisp sound mixed with the sound of water, but she did not turn her head:

They had already realized this before taking such action.

cluster!

Another ball of paper came out, faster than pulling the trigger. This time, the paper ball made a small arc and passed by Doudou's father's chin sideways--

Chuck.

The man turned his head 180 degrees and saw his own back, then fell straight down. After a few sporadic convulsions, he returned to complete calm.

"what?"

A gentle breeze swirled through Doudou's empty heart, but it didn't stir the slightest bit. This was the closest thing to uneasiness he had ever felt.

Puff, puff, puff!

Several more bullets penetrated Doudou's body - but he didn't even tremble from the impact.

Click! Click! Click! Click!

The bullets in the pistol had been used up long ago, but Mom was still pulling the trigger again and again: she didn't turn around to look at Doudou's father's condition, but just let her index finger twitch on the trigger.

Sizzle, sizzle.

The small apartment was suddenly filled with something invisible and intangible, yet omnipresent. The air carried a faint smell of burning, and the electric charge was filling up—

Mom finally threw the gun aside, let out a long breath, and fell to her knees. Her messy hair covered her eyes:

"How, how could the concentration be so high? Impossible, karma cannot be detected by the senses."

Mom suddenly raised her head, and the gaze in her eyes pierced Doudou like a drill.

Even though it was covered by blood and dust, my mother could still see that the wounds that had been torn by shotgun shells and bullets were slowly but clearly "shrinking".

The most obvious thing is the crack on the side of Doudou's mouth that extends all the way to the corner of his ear - now, the back teeth that were originally exposed are no longer visible.

"Mom, Dad's head is upside down. Should we still play?"

Doudou scratched his nose and spoke expressionlessly. He felt a little awkward and strange, but he couldn't quite put his finger on why.

Mom shook her head. She stood up unsteadily and walked into the kitchen connected to the living room; Doudou followed behind her.

As she turned on the valves of each gas tank one by one, she said to Doudou:

"You were originally a very kind and good person, more lovable than anyone else in the world. You could feel sad for others' misfortunes and be happy for others' happiness."

Mom bit through the tape seals and carefully taped up the edges of the windows and doors. She also picked up the clothes that had been emptied out of the cupboards and filled the logistics pipes leading into the house with them:

"We originally thought: everyone in the future will be as kind as you. If that were the case, there would be no more [sin] and no more [mental illness] in the world. Humanity might not become happier, but it would definitely have fewer worries."

Doudou followed closely behind his mother, feeling confused and bewildered by what she was saying, but he didn't ask any questions.

Doudou's mother sat down against the kitchen counter and opened her arms:

"Come on, child, come here."

She hugged Doudou's head and leaned it on her shoulder:

"Stay with Mom for a while, okay? It won't take long."

"We were wrong. The entire experimental group was terribly wrong. We, who were hoping for a lucky break, were even more wrong."

"If you wait, you will wake up."

"Just remember what my mother said and live on. Just one sentence:"

"Be a kind child and a good person. Like a human being."

Doudou lowered his head and responded:

"Ok."

Although he didn't understand what to do; he didn't know why his mother said that.

Doudou’s mother kissed the top of Doudou’s head and opened the lid of the lighter in her hand.

Doudou looked up: the orange flame of the chandelier illuminated the kitchen window. Through the glittering glass, there were no stars in the night sky.

There were other things, things he had never seen; floating in the sky his father had warned him not to look at—

They were faces: twisted, tangled, identical faces linked together in clusters, their pores as distinct as those of a vehicle; these faces filled the entire sky, obscuring the moon beside the dark clouds, like giant stars too close to Earth, a Milky Way made of skin and sinew.

The clouds hung over the faces, making them look as if they were smoking.

Doudou recognized those faces—the owners of those features had just moments ago raised their hunting rifles and shot themselves without hesitation:

It's Daddy's face.

Those huge, round eyes were covered with bloodshot; each pair turned and cast its gaze at this small apartment, through the thin clouds and the window glass, and fixed on Doudou.

Their mouths kept opening and closing, and the tips of their tongues trembled in the dark mouths; some even tore the corners of their mouths due to the violent movements, but could not make any sound.

Dou Dou turned his head: Dad was still lying on the floor of the living room, his face soaked in a dark red pool of blood, motionless; it seemed as if he was practicing holding his breath.

What happened?

He turned around and wanted to speak, to ask his mother; but he didn't have time to point out to her -

Click.

With a crisp sound, my mother lit the lighter:

The sea of ​​fire engulfed everything.

Chapter 4 Vortex

Sometimes Doudou feels that Mong Cai during the summer vacation is like a damp garbage dump.

This feeling comes from the hot mist rising from the summer sun and the sticky sweat on the back; the mosquitoes swarming above people's heads form a kind of vague crown.

Even though it was just past noon, the lanes were already jammed; the moving traffic made a roar of horns and engines, which was extremely noisy: Mong Cai's slow pace of urban construction could not keep up with the changes over the years.

But this wasn't the topic Doudou was concerned about while squatting in front of the newsstand. The 15th of every month was the day he looked forward to the most.

"The latest issue is here!"

Doudou pressed the rectangular button with the paint worn off, stuffed three nickels into the coin slot, grabbed the handle, and yanked open the oven-like lid of the self-service newsstand.