I, with my chin resting on the window, my face pressed against the glass, stared out the window boredly.
It's an old house on the corner, and through my window you can see everything at the crossroads. The sound of the wind leaking through the cracks in the window was as eerie as a ghost crying wolf, and I tucked the blanket. I don't remember how long I've been here looking outside, and I don't know what to see outside. There were not many pedestrians on the road, it was deserted, and the sky was gloomy. I don't seem to do anything every day, I don't lie in bed and sleep, I just stick to the window pane and look out motionlessly, and I don't even get out of the door. This kind of life is by no means what a normal person should live, and I may be sick.
I don't know if it's because of the haze, I can only see the overpass at the next intersection at the farthest and highest level. The world outside the window is only so big, as if we live in the belly of a fish, otherwise how can we feel cold and fishy? My window was so close to the road that I could see the faces of passers-by. Most of them are in a hurry, whether they are adults or children, they are all dead. I don't like to look at this, I like the way some of them suddenly look at me like they see a ghost. Every day, I dedicate myself to capturing people's momentary expressions for fun, and when I am tired and tired, I obediently go back to bed and continue to sleep. My son said I was a very good one, and I don't know which one he was talking about.
I lay in bed and soon fell asleep, and I gradually became awake because I was dreaming. In the dream, I remembered that I was a neurotic, the kind that the doctor had diagnosed, and I didn't remember the specific name, but in short, the symptom was drowsiness, and I couldn't tell the difference between dreams and reality. But the doctor didn't know that the deeper I sank into the dream, the more awake I became, only to wake up and forget everything.
The snow-white ceiling began to boil, gradually turning red, and then a huge spider web grew. A dozen spiders larger than a fist and as black and red as volcanic rock struck me like airborne troops. I didn't feel any fear at all, I was afraid that their attack would fail. The web looks perfect, I hope it's denser than the web, and these spiders are scary enough, hopefully not a bunch of pets. I felt their scalding nibbles, and I smelled the smell of roasted meat in the air.
Happy birthday to you, happy birthday to you......"The alarm went off and I woke up disappointed, but I didn't know what it was. It was 7 o'clock in the morning, and I remembered that my son said to me yesterday: "Mom, if you wake up at 7 o'clock and remember it, see if I get up, I have something important to go out tomorrow, I'm afraid I'll have slept over." "So now that I'm awake, and I remember, of course I'm going to see if my son is up. But I couldn't get up with a limp, I was probably numb from sleep, and I continued to lie down to slow down. About five minutes passed like this, and there was no sound in the living room, and my son must have overslept. When I woke up, I could only lie in bed and not move. I woke up and remembered, how could I be so useless and not help my son do this little thing? My son takes care of me every day, and I have to do something for him.
I focused all my strength on my toes, which finally moved, and then I moved the rest of my body one by one from the bottom up, and I finally struggled to sit up. There is still no movement in the living room, and it seems that my son still has to rely on me. However, I still had no strength in my body, and I managed to move my legs off the bed and let my feet hit the ground, and my hands were hard to let my ass open, but I couldn't move a decent step. My ankles twisted on the floor looked like a child forcibly making a puppet doll walk. I had to hold on to the edge of the bed and twist like a worm to the door, but no matter how hard I tried, I couldn't unscrew the doorknob. I couldn't open the door, I was so anxious that I was sweating, I could only shout, "Son, are you up?" It's not early! ”
Shocked to find that the silence in the air was unscathed, I could not make a sound. I shouted a few more times and it was still the same, and a chill welled up all over my body. I subconsciously turned to look at the bed, where a person was clearly sleeping. That's my body, and I'm my soul. I went back the way I came, sat down on the edge of the bed, examined my body, and found that I was still alive. I wanted to wake up immediately and tell scientists all over the world about my amazing discovery: it turns out that when a person is alive, the body and soul can be separated. I was heartbroken when I remembered that I was dreaming, because once I woke up I didn't know or remember anything. When I was awake, I could only vaguely feel that I had forgotten something important, and I was chaotic like a fool, so I hated being awake.
I continued to look outside, eager to find something interesting. Everything seemed as boring as before bedtime, and even the two tanuki who quarreled next to the dumpster every day at noon were missed. My eyes searched for it, and suddenly a delicate orange bounce came into my eyes. It was a vermilion red flower that bloomed on the tip of the road, growing on the balcony of a photo studio upstairs across the road. It seemed to break through the rusty railing for me, otherwise why would the branches be straight and the faces of the flowers facing me? It's so beautiful, I reach for it. But it was like deliberately playing tricks on me, getting farther and farther away from me, becoming more and more obscure. I quickly got into a small boat and slid and slid towards it. Crying while sliding, I resented myself for being in such a hurry and not knowing how to drive a car or take a plane to chase after me. I remembered that the owner of the house hurried to close the curtains every time he saw me, and remembered every look of disdain that looked at me as if he had bumped into bad luck, I was afraid, I panicked. The boat spun around, I lost my bearings, and I fell into the water. But I remembered that I could swim, so I closed my eyes and swam hard. I felt like a flood of disappointment in myself, and I had to figure out why I was disappointed and what I wanted to accomplish.
It was as if the soles of my feet had suddenly stepped on the air, and I woke up in fright. I remembered that I was not only timid, but also had a bad heart. The clock at the head of the bed showed that the time was almost half past eleven, and I should have not eaten anything, otherwise I would have felt like my chest was pressed against my back, and even my heart was about to be flattened. I put on a wide-brimmed woolen hat and wrapped myself in a sleeping blanket and prepared to go out to eat. I was so timid that I hid at home every day, and I can't remember the last day I went out or what I was doing. But I remember that there was a rice noodle shop next door to my house, and the owner and his wife were very nice, and I used to go there often.
I entered the store through the back door, sat in a corner seat, bowed my head and didn't say a word, just waited silently, everything was familiar with the road. The boss didn't come to greet me, and it didn't take long to bring me a steaming bowl of soup noodles. The rice noodles are very hot, and I stir them and eat them in no hurry. The more they didn't want to hear someone muttering something, the more they wanted to hear it.
It's her, it's her. Half a year ago, a writer who was very popular on the * Internet but went crazy in reality. ”
Which one? "The one in the corner with the hat covering his face. ”
Sloppy looks like a madman, she can write? ”
Yes, it is dedicated to writing the story of how a madman committed suicide in a dream. ”
Mom, she's really crazy, write herself, right? ”
No, she went crazy after she became popular. ”
Oh my God, what the hell is going on? ”
I can't make a few words clearly, so I'll talk about it after eating."
I, the web writer, am I still crazy? I don't do anything every day. I deliberately raised the brim of my hat to glare at them, waiting to catch their expressions when they met my gaze.
At this time, I heard a little girl say: "Grandma, you see that the crazy person is angry when people say it, you are not allowed to criticize me next time." "Child, don't talk nonsense, be careful that she scolds you. ”
No, as my mother said, she's stupid, and she laughs just by looking at her. ”
I followed the prestige, and the little girl was making a grimace at me, her features huddled together like a pleated bun of meat. I really laughed, laughed greedily. Then the other tables in the store laughed, like a bunch of fools. The rice noodles in the bowl were instantly unfragrant, and I took out my mobile phone from my pocket and prepared to scan the code to check out and leave. As a result, I forgot my password, and it was useless to try several times.
How can I not remember the password of my phone? I can't turn on my phone, how can I contact my son to help me? What's the deal with not paying for a meal? I was sitting on pins and needles, sweating like rain, and I didn't notice that the sleeping blanket had fallen to the ground.
The proprietress helped me pick up the sleeping blanket by the way, and asked me with a smile: Have you changed your taste after a long time? Why did you put down such chopsticks after eating such a little? ”
I'm full, I forgot my mobile phone password and can't pay, can my son come over and pay at night? ”
When you're full, you can go home and go to sleep, you're the next neighbor, it doesn't matter. ”
I heard a guest sigh and say: She used to be able to write 10,000 words a day, but now she can't even remember the password of her mobile phone. ”
Write**? Suspiciously, I grabbed my sleeping blanket and left the shop.
I'm still thinking about what my phone password is, and whether it's me or not. This is very unusual, I'm crazy, I'm stupid! I thought about it while walking, and I arrived at the door of the house in a few steps. With a slight press of my thumb, the door opened suddenly, but fortunately it was not a combination lock, and I was glad for a while.
There are few pieces of furniture in the living room, except for the dining table, chairs, coffee table, and sofa. There are only necessary daily necessities such as water cups, kettles, and napkins on the countertop, and the house is very boring. I looked around again and noticed the pink swan-necked cup on the coffee table, and I picked it up and remembered that it was a pair of glasses, and the other sky blue, a gift from my husband on the day of the porcelain wedding anniversary. But where did the azure one go?
I started rummaging through boxes and cabinets, even the trash cans in the corners. I seemed to realize that I was looking for more than just a water glass, and I began to curse myself: You are such a piece of shit, do you know what you have lost? Why don't you remember anything, you don't even have a memory, what's the point of your life? Even if you can't remember anything, do you remember why you were always disappointed in yourself? Why do you like to dream? You have something in your dream that has never been completed, do you know it? My heart is flustered, I haven't found the answer yet, I haven't found my sky blue water glass.
In a bit of scramble, I knocked over a tripod with a mobile phone on it. Curious, I walked over to see if the phone was working. The picture is really being filmed, my son is really boring, and I don't even have a pet at home to shoot. I casually helped him exit the shooting interface and return to the main panel, the main panel is full of social media apps, I clicked on the * sound casually, the content of ** is very boring and not as interesting as the author's name "Suck Richard's ass".
I was curious about what the name of my son's account would be, so I clicked on the "me" in the lower right corner, and "my mother is a crazy writer" came into view. I felt a cold sweat start to rise from the soles of my feet, am I really crazy? I couldn't help but open other accounts and found that the account names were all without exception, and the number of followers was quite impressive. I plucked up the courage to click on one of the top works-"What is the Happened to the Internet Writer ** Who Was Once Popular", and then I ** seven or eight ** in one breath, and checked the Internet to confirm. The answers to all the questions are flying in front of me like confetti, and the pictures in my mind flash one by one. I saw a car accident, I saw the back of myself coding words in front of the computer late at night, I saw the happiness on my face when I invited my son to dinner with the first manuscript fee, I saw several messages accusing me from netizens, I saw my hoarse voice when I quarreled with my son, I saw a doctor talking to me, and I saw myself being watched through ......the glass every dayI also saw my own online article promotion interface, it turned out that I once wrote a down-and-out writer's life is frustrated, but every day he fantasizes in his dreams like the scholar in "Strange Tales from Liaozhai" that he can meet the flower demon fox fairy or the title of the gold list, but he has never been able to kill himself in his dreams, but every time he encounters a bizarre failure. It's just that the story was interrupted after this madman writer tried 48 ways to commit suicide in his dream, because I was crazy and could never write a word again.
A brutal truth lies before me: people live to be either entertained or consumed. Just like the surveillance cameras in the four corners of the living room of this house and the mobile phones that are busy recording on two tripods at the moment.
I felt my heart swell like a balloon, and at the same time I realized that a sharp knife was about to pierce it, so that something could be released from my shoulder, my neck, my throat, or the top of my head, or other ** in my body. That feeling became clearer and clearer, and it turned out to be the thrill of victory. I slammed it the floor.
I saw my soul leave my body again, I had a somewhat ethereal feeling in my levitation but not at all pain, I looked at myself lying on the bed. The body was dead, pale, breathless, and not ugly except for its mouth open as if it had something to say. I sat on the edge of my bed and waited, waiting for my son to come back and find me, for black and white impermanence or death to come. I can't wait to share the joy of success with any of them, but I don't have regrets, in fact, I also want to give my unfinished work an ending, so that the writer can successfully complete suicide in his dreams just like me.
It's been 5 hours and no one has found out about my death. I'm still combing through my successful experience over and over again: giving up all illusions and giving a critical blow to my fragile heart with the cruelest truth. Perfect!