It takes seven days for a person to die completely

My retina promises to be covered with a layer of mist that cannot be rubbed off, so that the world I see, apart from the intertwined gray and white, is only left with uncertain dust between the gray and white.

I dare not stay here for long.The dense water vapor here penetrates my almost feathered body with the dark wind from unknown sources. Even though my nerve perception has stopped functioning together with the pierced heart for a while, the imaginary bone-chilling chill is still translucent. Limbs and torso wandering.

Intuition drove me to gallop, and the sound of the surging wind whistled in my ears, but the wind blades that should slap my cheeks never came as promised.

I ran faster and faster, almost to the point where the dust in front of my eyes flowed away like running water, almost to the point where the gray and white of my vision peeled off, and almost to the point where I felt that I was flying, and I finally broke through the fog!Break through the barrier!Break through the shackles!

The colorful colors are ironed in the eyelids - I am back to the world again.

The land under my feet is wetted by rain, and in front of my spiritual body is the wilderness washed by rain. The rain seeps directly into my faint soul. me in this world.

I have seen this wilderness, in fragments of fragmented memories that are gradually joining together, this is the wilderness of the old park—if death does not alter one's memory.

It is only half a quarter of an hour away from the residence I lived in when I was alive. There are people and things I care about, but why should I go this way again to add more obsessions to myself?

I shouldn’t do this when I’m alive, and I dare not do this when I’m dead. When my soul is gone seven days later, I should go away calmly, instead of delaying my walk and worrying about my children’s long-term love.

I have always been degraded as rebellious and rebellious. Most people who saw me spurned me, and a few repaid me with hopeless regret.

Even if I try my best to pretend to be a mediocre citizen, my sloppy and cheerful soul will still easily tear off my hypocritical skin, exposing my dirty and intransigent nature to the scorching eyes of the world, and there is nowhere to hide.

I just lived like this, the time spent in torment is simply absurd and ethereal.It is so absurd that it can be compared to the plot of a low-quality novel for five yuan a piece on a bustling street stall.

I began to try to move my limbs in free suspension, which was a difficult technical task.If I'm not careful, they will pull me off the land, and I hate the unrealistic feeling.I admit that I am indeed dead, but I also want to have one more proof that allows me to perceive that I am still in the world.

The numb limbs drove me half-walking and half-running to escape from the park. The rainy garden was too deserted. If I just wanted to be deserted, why would I not give up returning to this devastated world at the cost of my soul dying.

It would be better to fall into the eternal abyss of nothingness, and listen to the never-ending whistling wind there, which is much more beautiful than being disturbed by the noisy chirping of birds among the towering trees.

Yes, I love the wind, I love the wind.Even though I don't even have a body that can sense the direction of the wind, I'm still willing to stop in the panic and wait for the breeze, let it caress my face, shake my skirt, mess my hair, Let it force me to remember a person, a person who dare not and is unwilling to forget.

My stumbling life has gone back to the eighteen seasons of spring and autumn miserably. In the first 15 years of my life, I was accompanied only by loneliness, and in the last three years, he was the only one who accompanied me.

I often call him Mo, which is the first character in his code name, usually called his surname.Don't laugh at why my name is supposed to be called a code name. The reason is--he said he has no father or mother, and he doesn't know if he has a real name, so he let others pick one at will, and it has been used to this day.

I vaguely remember that after he finished explaining, he sat on the slumped bed, in the shade illuminated by the warm lamp, and smiled at me with a frown on his brow.

He smiled so warmly and sadly.I've never seen the side of him that's unscrupulously displayed at this moment.

A sudden panic made me confess my heart out of nowhere:

"Uh...everyone will meet the one who redeemed him one day, like...like...I met you."

"I have met now," he said.

"Actually, you..." He paused, which made my heart tense, and hurriedly asked: "What? What did you say?"

"It's nothing." He turned his head to the side and remained silent, avoiding my eyes that were eager for an answer.

As a result, for a long time, I was thinking hard about what he hadn't finished speaking.

But now, in the sound of rustling and rain, in the sound of whistling wind, and in sections of memoirs, I finally understand.