【Shadou】Alternative of the same kind

There was no sunlight peeking through the clouds.

Under the sky is a distorted and deformed station notice board, the outer skin of the corners and corners is peeling off, and the red rust is inserted straight into the snow with a sharp side.

heavy.

It could no longer bear the weight of the snow, and died by the roadside, the iron frame creaked and fell apart, and it tried to raise its head so that people could recognize who it was.

A final faint moan from the golden lettering—

——"Verdun"

Hello, welcome to Verdun.

The snow in December fell on the somewhat dry and cracked concrete floor, and the temperature was very low, which made the snow succeed in its tricks. They piled up and piled up unscrupulously until they were enough to bury life and penetrated deep into the bone marrow.

Salaman heard the school bell ring once, twice...

He was not in a hurry to get out of school, but he also hoped to go home earlier, so after hearing the fifth bell, he sighed with complicated meaning, then immediately grabbed his schoolbag and walked towards the gate.

The snow spots on the sycamore tree gradually turned dark, and there was a low sycamore tree with twisted and hideous branches in the back of the sun. The broken branches buried their heads in search of their twisted limbs—they were inserted obliquely into the ground. Snow all over the place.

"it's here."

Salaman stood on tiptoe and fumbled for something in the broken decay, and finally withdrew his hand, still clutching a pair of light blue gloves, maybe they are dirty blue now.

"Another good thing those guys did."

Then he shook his head, put them into his schoolbag without a sigh and walked home, stepping on the snow one deep and one shallow.

The snow along the way is getting thinner and thinner, because his direction will pass Verdun train station, which can be regarded as one of the places with the largest flow of people, and no one will talk to anyone who is in a hurry, unless it is a relative or friend. Parting and reunion, otherwise there is no reason to stop for strangers.

It is said that an artist who is naturally romantic and gentleman is the characteristic of the French, and the people passing by are just demons degenerated by great men in the coffin who are greedy for the world. Look, those two young couples passed by, the man's shoulders Touching the girl hurt, when he said sorry, he was sincere but he didn't even look back at her.

"The darkness."

The red-haired boy can't speak out, and it would be regarded as a different kind of injustice to these usual things.

So he chose to quicken his pace.

The rumbling train arrived at the station, and the friction sound between the tracks and the wheels was shrill and terrifying, like the wailing of a soul that endured the torment of hell when its eyes were gouged out by an invisible claw.

"Sir, your ticket."

The ticket inspector breathed out two clouds of white mist from his nostrils, and returned the one-way ticket from Paris to Versailles to the young man in front of him with his right hand.

"You don't seem to be in good spirits. The journey must have been boring, but it's okay." Hearing the middle-aged ticket inspector in front of him, the young man stretched out his whitish left hand.

"You won't be bored here. This is the 'Paris Key-Verdun'. You will like it here. Have fun, sir."

He took the ticket unhurriedly, the touch of the two fingertips was only for a moment, but it gave the ticket inspector the illusion of falling into the ice cellar - at this moment, he felt that the young man's hand was stronger than this damn weather cold.

"hope so."

The young man seemed to have no dissatisfaction with the so-called "damn weather", and slowly unbuttoned the top two buttons of the leather jacket.

The ticket inspector thought it was the scene where the collared beast wanted to get rid of its restraint after gaining wisdom, and everything was quiet, waiting for the moment when the beast broke free from its restraint.

"Huh—" The young man let out a breath, and a wisp of water mist spread from the filament to the distance, but it finally broke at a place less than [-] centimeters away, gathered into a ball of air, and then disappeared.

The collar of the jacket was turned down, revealing the messy ultramarine hair, but it didn't feel out of place.

He stomped on the snow under his feet, like an impromptu kick.

After confirming the condition of the road, he carried a small amount of luggage and walked towards the exit of the station. He didn't want to smell the smell of smoke for a second longer.

But after looking at the stars and moonlight filtered out of the glass, he chose to turn around and say the last sentence to the ticket inspector:

"Thank you."

It's definitely not smiles and kisses that can't bear the pressure under the lips.

Because I don't know you at all.

The key is the turning point, the turning point is the opening, the opening is the rebirth, and the rebirth is the sacred.

A few strands of blue hair were torn off by him, and he held them, together with a key.

Now he is standing still on the ground that no one has cleared, in the snow to be precise, the rare snow in France is welcoming him.

Ultramarine's hair color is rare, and it is even rarer to be matched with a handsome face-maybe it is more appropriate to describe him as delicate, but no matter how he is judged, the person concerned will not care at all.

He is in a good mood now, at least not as bad as when he first arrived at the station. A kind ticket inspector smiled and handed him a one-way ticket. When he got off work, the middle-aged Frenchman had a meal with the new traveler and talked about France.

Not a bad dinner, in fact it was great because one of the guys hadn't eaten in three days and he was very hungry.

He twisted the hair tightly between his fingertips, sniffed it close to his nose, and there was a smell of dinner, but for him, dinner was a sin, a punishment from God, the most merciless indifference and the loneliness of being abandoned by the world .

There was still a smell of blood on it, and he didn't want these smells of loneliness to follow him closely, not even for a second, so he threw them off in a bad mood, leaving only the key.

The stainless steel reflects the cold light properly, pointing directly at the door, as if to pierce it or transform into a machete to split the city's fortress.

In fact, for him, the key is just a proof.

This is his own, private, secret, non-existent space, and no one can disturb him—he has no interest in getting along with those neighbors, and he doesn't want anyone to share this interest with him.

"Own" means loneliness, and loneliness is his protection, obstacle, and barrier, and he doesn't want to be entangled in these twists and turns.

He touched a few shallow dents on the long shaft of the key, which were hard to see with the naked eye, but he could see them clearly——

- "Phoo"

Silan Udos' bony hand reached for the keyhole, and the sound of clicking was amplified several times in his ears.

Boom—the spring made the right knock, and he threw the luggage behind him into the room without looking at it. He quickly pulled out the key and threw it into the room as well.

Is he going to throw himself in next?

Stop making such silly jokes.

He turned to look behind him, but his footsteps moved into the house, he was just used to looking back to see if there was any threat, a damn habit, a habit he would never forget.

But he heard footsteps, looked out of the window in the corridor, and saw the red-haired child.

"Bam—"

He had no thoughts, closed the door, and enclosed himself in the room, which cannot be called "home".

But the footsteps were getting louder and louder. Shelan Udos listened vigilantly to all movements. The boy pushed open the door, and the lock clicked. He regained his composure and continued to walk upstairs.

Why the hell did it stop at its own door? !

"The door lock was replaced with a new one, and the neighbor moved in next door?"

It's talking to himself, but Shelan Udos knows that this child will definitely visit him in the future, and start the boring neighborhood relationship between humans.

The rattling lockhole and the key are gearing up.

"Click-"

"I am back."

"despair--"

The door slams.

Shelan Udos opened the black suitcase, and the thick black curtains were made of opaque material, similar to stage curtains, except that the curtains were red.

From time to time there was a clanging sound next door, and Salaman thought it must be the new neighbor decorating his room.

Should I go say hello and help out?

"Salaman, dinner is ready."

"I'll come, Mom."

He forgot to visit for a while, just as his new neighbor didn't like to be visited, and by coincidence, when he forgot to visit himself, Siran Udos had already fallen asleep on the bed wrapped in a blanket.

The curtains completely shield the windows, like black sealing strips, blocking the outside world from the interior, becoming the dividing line of different spaces and cutting off all connections.

The long nails pierced the curtains hanging from the floor and close to the walls on both sides, and they were nailed straight into the floor and the inside of the wall. This is really a completely dead space. The coffin was finally dragged to the muddy place in the rainy night. The cemetery is empty, some people are digging the soil, looking for a deep place of peace, those crying people prevent the coffin from being dragged into the abyss, but they can only sit on the ground, useless, what about themselves?Funny, what do I have to do with all this?

Wasn't it me who was buried in loneliness, the self who couldn't even stand on the sidelines.

So everything has nothing to do with me, the only connection has been cut off by those black curtains, and even the bones——

— because there will be no sunlight.

Shelan Udos slept exceptionally well.

The cold circulating air hits his body but there is no chance to escape, and the peaceful sleep reduces his heartbeat, which is not much. Thirteen times, this ominous number is a gift to him.

The abdomen is stable, and the feeling of fullness in the stomach is filling. He turned over, and the arc drawn by the hair is so small that it is difficult to catch, and no one will hear the blood churning in his stomach.

"Thank you."

Why say thank you.

Thanks to that friendly French worker.

He gave his life to help the strangers stay alive, even if he didn't want to.

But what do you lose by that?

I don't know you at all.

------------TBC------------