Writer saves the world

Apart from other things, Wilde performed absolutely well in terms of reputation. He said that he would start writing after reading the book in his hand, and he would never read one book after another, procrastinating endlessly.

Even though there was still a remnant of confusion and resistance in his heart, after reading the book, he really picked up the pen and began to write the story about the canary and the storm.

It was not a pleasant story, the canary was so stupid that it made people laugh, and like a moth fluttering into a flame, he dreamed of a fate that did not belong to him, but Wilde unconsciously raised his lips slightly because of this story while writing Jiao, seems to find this story extremely interesting.He wrote very quickly, as if some kind of dirty and obscure thing stuck in his heart, splashed all over the paper with the words.

Just like when he smashed the paint box, tore the canvas and broke the paintbrush, standing alone in the middle of the messy studio, he felt that the paint flowing all over the floor was shockingly beautiful-he would never be able to draw it, tearing his soul to pieces The beauty sprinkled all over the floor.

A few strands of untied blond hair hang down on Wilde's cheeks, beautiful sapphire-like eyes drooping slightly, the young man with blond hair and blue eyes is as handsome as an archangel depicted in a classical oil painting, his smiling face reveals the radiance of compassion, benevolence, and saint-like .

It's a pity that O. Henry, who entered the dreamland a little later, didn't feel any warmth and compassion in this smile. Instead, he rubbed his arms and shivered because of this smile, and moved the stool to sit a little far away from Wilde with a look of disgust.

"I really miss that Mr. Wilde from seven days ago." O. Henry muttered, took out his manuscript paper and pretended to add a few words - as a well-organized and conscientious official social animal, he was almost on the verge of death It became another occupational disease of his. No matter what he thought in his heart, he endured the pain and forced himself to write something.

"Let me declare first," O. Henry said to Erye Tingming, "Although the stories I wrote are boring to read, I don't intend to perfuse you at all."

"These are what I see and what I long for, and what I regret and can never get back—the most boring things in the world."

Given his career and experience, he should have written something more interesting.O. Henry thinks that he has top-notch ability in reviewing questions, and he can indeed write exciting and thrilling stories. As long as he randomly selects a few missions that he has performed, high-tech and different abilities match the disgusting dark side of high-ranking officials and rich people, and a little modification is enough. It was a wonderful action movie, and he felt his blood boil just thinking about it.

The life of an intelligence officer should be like that. Every day is like a bridge in the third rate, which has nothing to do with mediocrity.

But in the end, O. Henry only wrote some mediocre, mundane and extremely boring things, and some even had only a flashback scene—an old man selling flowers in the cold wind, an orphan picking up relics on the battlefield to make a living, and an unemployed man. And the dancing girls in the tavern... They are all low-level people who will never be seen, cannot make their own voices, and will not be listed in any file plan as a reference value. They are just a corner of the background board in the great era.

Those are ordinary scenes in the war that everyone is used to. It seems that the meaning of some people's birth is to sacrifice, but no matter whether the author of the article believes it or not, it is such ordinary things that crush O. Henry's self-conceited ruthlessness hard heart.

When he stood in front of a helpless old man, listened to the hoarse cries of a child who lost his parents, or faced a battlefield where corpses were strewn all over the place and it was impossible to tell who was who, he couldn't tell himself this with a clear conscience. The war was right and what he did was just.

Behrman Sr., Jamie Wells, Soapy, Billy Driscu...

O. Henry thought about the identities he put on one by one. How he wished that he could really become these people, living a mediocre life, only running around for his own food, clothing and survival all day long.

What a happy life it would be if there were no wars.

O. Henry's pen tip scratched the paper. He stared at the half-written story in silence for a long time, then turned his head and asked Erye Tingming, "Can I have some wine?"

Whiskey, vodka, or whatever, even in his dreams he still morbidly asked himself to stay awake, alcohol would give him an excuse to lose control.

"Of course, as you wish." Erye Tingming was always responsive to little beets, and knocked on the table to provide O. Henry with a few bottles of wine to add to the fun.

"……thanks."

O. Henry opened a bottle of whiskey, but didn't pour it into the glass. He directly poured a big gulp into the bottle, and his cheeks immediately turned red.

"It's really good wine." He admired.

Beside him, the figure of Miss Lagerlof slowly appeared.

"It seems that we are a bit late." Miss Lagerlof said with a smile, and Verne also appeared in the hall at about the same time. Stepping forward, he almost sat on O. Henry's lap.

"Be careful." O. Henry helped him up, "My thighs are only for pretty girls."

Verne awkwardly apologized to him, and was pulled to his side by Miss Lagerlof. The little Niels jumped on his shoulder, and greeted him familiarly and intimately against his cheek.

"Leave him alone." Miss Lagerlof said, and after sitting down, she picked up Verne's manuscript very naturally and corrected his grammatical mistakes.

She is the fastest writing progress among all of them. She finished all writing a few days ago and is just waiting to be handed in.In addition, she also tutored Verne's writing like a teacher, allowing Verne, who was confused, to find his writing direction smoothly, and wrote a pretty good article.

Although the writing style is a bit simple, and the story is straightforward and without ups and downs, it is better than the sincerity of emotion and moving people. In addition, he is not very old and has not read much, and the straightforward expression in spoken language can make people empathize and empathize. Feel the loneliness and fear in his heart.

Miss Lagerlof likes Verne very much. They are the only two people among the seven who will make an appointment to meet each other. O. Henry couldn't help teasing that they looked like a mother and son.

Verne bowed his head in embarrassment when he heard this, but Miss Lagerlof smiled nonchalantly, "Just like you have an occupational disease, you can't expect me to be perfect."

Verne was young and had little experience, so he could only write about the memories before and after the death of his parents. Two thin pages squeezed out his limited vocabulary, all thanks to Miss Lagerlof Give him a touch up.

And Miss Lagerlof herself spent several days writing down the students she taught one by one.

Miss Lagerlof hasn't recalled those things for a long, long time. She deliberately kept herself from thinking about them, and the government also provided her with some special means to fade the scars of the past, so that she couldn't write the whole class's children's story after thinking about it for a long time. name.

At that time, she was just a new primary school teacher, full of hope to teach the first batch of students in her teaching career, each of them was so cute and sensible, like little angels falling from heaven.

Ability, war, etc... those things are as far away as in another world.

Until a bomb fell on her school, turning her beautiful paradise into a sea of ​​​​hell.

Miss Lagerloff nearly died in the explosion, and she woke up Nils, who summoned geese to rescue her.She knew the moment the supernatural power appeared, as long as she told Niels the name of the person she was looking for and thought of his face in her heart, Niels would ride his white goose and tell her the person's name on the map. where.

Nils can also summon a flock of geese. Those birds with huge size and amazing combat power can not only pick her out of the ruins after the explosion, but also fly across the ocean and across the mountains in the blink of an eye. No matter whether the target is hiding in a mountain of knives, a sea of ​​fire or a trap in a secret room, they can Bring people in front of her.

But that day, Miss Lagerlof recited the names of each of her students over and over again until her voice became hoarse, trying desperately to recall those cute little faces again and again, but in any case Niels just looked at them with a sad expression. She stood there motionless.

Nils couldn't find the souls of the dead. All her students died in the explosion. The only color in that gloomy memory was the scarlet mottled on her hands and face that couldn't be washed off.

Probably since then, Miss Lagerlof felt that her soul had died, leaving only a shell filled with hatred, asking her to strangle this damned war to death.

"Oh, that's right." Wilde, biting his pen and pondering the words, suddenly remembered something, and said to Erye Tingming, "Orwell is on a business trip to the North Pole, and he probably won't be here until very late. Heine is also very busy recently. The Germans are keeping a close eye on him again—his pedigree is... not so clean after all, so he's not sure if he'll have an excuse to sleep in today."

Wilde found that writing really helped to relax his mind, allowing him to reveal his closeness to Orwell and Heine without pressure, and mention the embarrassing situation of the three in their respective countries.

Needless to say, he himself, after the war started, even walking in the garden was strictly restricted, he was more like a painting machine than a human being.On the other hand, Orwell was guarded against because of the indiscriminate effect of supernatural powers. Not only was he sent to various corners and corners for more than half a year to perform solo missions, but he was also called to drink tea and talk from time to time to ensure that He was still loyal, and he didn't have any thoughts that he shouldn't have.

In Orwell's own words, if his supernatural powers hadn't been discovered during the war, the grass on his grave would be three feet high.

As for Heine, what other reason was needed for a Jew to be isolated and guarded by the German government?Heine was even persecuted to go into exile in France before the supernatural power was awakened, and was kidnapped by Germany to serve the country after the supernatural power was awakened. Even though Heine loves his motherland from the bottom of his heart, it is difficult to calmly accept what he has suffered everything.

Before being invited by Erye Tingming, the three of them had already connected through various coincidences. At that time, they only knew about each other's existence, vaguely felt that the other party had similar thoughts to themselves, and were still in the state of back and forth testing and inner wavering. stage, but if they continue to develop like that, one day they will also form an alliance to end this war.

"Although people can't come, they both have written almost." Wilde took out Orwell and Heine's manuscript paper and handed it to Erye Tingming, "They said that you can read it if you want, but I suggest you do it. Be mentally prepared to watch ... especially Orwell's."

Out of his understanding of these two characters, Wilde briefly flipped through their articles, whether it was Orwell’s spiritual pollution that made him uncomfortable for a while after reading it, or Heine’s harsh writing and dark interrogation that completely subverted the image Even Wilde felt that he had reason to suspect that it was not that the two could not come, but that what they wrote on the spur of the moment was too revealing, which made them dare not face the reality, so they deliberately did not come.

After all, after reading Orwell's article, he was so allergic to being monitored around the clock that he had difficulty breathing and called a doctor. He had already cured himself of the embarrassment of being followed in the shower and toilet by relying on self-hypnosis.

Wilde enjoyed reading Heine's article. The serious German guy is not serious in the text, and he swears about Germany from top to bottom, from the inside to the outside in different ways. Wilde promises that only the first line here Seen by the Germans, Heine had to kill the Germans who were poked in the sore spot.

However, it was really cool to read, and it made Wilde want to write something for his motherland.

While they were talking, Cervantes finally arrived late. This gentleman is also a member of the Gu Gu Gu Club. After seven days, he read books and articles without writing a single word. He saw Erye Tingming touched him. The nose also said almost the same speech as Wilde.

"I will write it." He said with the solemn tone of a knight's oath, "I should thank you for showing me the timidity in my heart."

"But escaping is a shameful thing, and I am definitely not that kind of weak coward."

I will write, next time it will be better.

Erye Tingming smiled, and gave him the manuscript paper and pen, "In this case, please start writing as soon as possible - it will be early in the morning, and you are the only one who hasn't written anything yet."

Cervantes took a deep look at Erye Tingming, and took the pen and paper.Before he wrote, his hands seemed to tremble uncontrollably, leaving a few ink dots on the manuscript paper, but he just wiped the paper casually, holding the pen like a sword, and wrote the words with indomitable momentum.

This was a life-and-death fight in his soul. Cervantes wanted to kill the cowardly, timid and hesitant self who bewitched him to surrender to the war.

With the story he is writing, a story about a coward becoming a hero in this absurd world where black and white are reversed, and the more evil the more the more worshipped.

Said the coward - I killed the gods.

With my sword, my knife, my fist, arsenic from the pharmacy... or anything else you can think of that could be a murder weapon.

He said it to his neighbors, he said it to the mayor, he said it to the mayor, he said it to the king, and he said it to the gods.

Of course, my dear sir, you may think me a liar.said the coward.

Then I too have committed the blasphemy, the unforgivable crime.

—In this world where crime is honor, the murderer of the gods is synonymous with the liar of the gods.