Writer saves the world

O. Henry once brought a newcomer.

That was the first and only time he brought a newcomer. The other party was a 16-year-old stinky brat. Not long ago, he awakened a supernatural ability that is very suitable for working in the intelligence department. He jumped into the battlefield by himself.

He didn't know what he was going to face, and he didn't understand what war meant. He just raised his head like a child of his age and said that he would be a hero who saved others.

A ignorant and fearless 16-year-old...

O. Henry couldn't remember how old he was at that time, maybe he was a little younger than that brat, but because of his early awakening of supernatural powers, he was already a mature intelligence officer who was able to take care of himself at that time. He had just returned from Siberia and was about to rest for two days The boss stuffed him with a recruit, and the idiot who didn't understand anything made people annoying.

——O. Henry's boss called it to grind his bad temper, don't be cold and mean at a young age like a debt collector, and there is an annoying gloomy malice in his smile.

It is conceivable that O. Henry and the rookie have gone through a not-so-smooth training and running-in period. From his professional point of view, this child is naive and stupid, and does not have any qualities that should be on the battlefield. After taking it for less than half an hour, I wanted to suggest that he give up and go back to study.

But that kid admired him only because of his beautiful feats without any real meaning, as if it was what a teenager's ideal hero should be, and surrounded him like a dog wagging its tail.

Then O. Henry took the rookie who had only been trained for two months on a mission.

This was the norm back then, and it was the years when the war was the most intense. The veteran transcendents from all over the world lost their lives in super-standard battles. There was no time for newcomers to grow slowly, and they were all thrown on the battlefield. Whether you can survive or not depends on your ability.

Just as O. Henry expected, the newcomer did not survive.

He missed when he sneaked in, and O. Henry, who stayed at the base camp, soon received a bloody package from the enemy camp.

The first day is the eyes.

The next day is the ears.

Then there are fingers, ribs, until the swollen and deformed head... The scattered parts are beautifully wrapped with flowers and bows. O. Henry didn't know whether to praise the enemy's outdated artistic sense.

But that battle was still O. Henry's victory, and it was a beautiful and glorious stroke in his credit book. He didn't feel the impact of the death of a subordinate, and it wasn't the first time that one person did the work of two people.

He's not a hero, and he can't save a fool.

It's just that, as the newcomer's instructor, O. Henry is also responsible for reporting the funeral to his relatives - an old man with white hair and missing teeth, wearing an outdated but neat suit, receiving the medal and pension brought by O. Henry.

There was no crying, no sorrow, the old man just asked him after a silence if his grandson died a hero.

"Yes," O. Henry heard himself answer, "always."

The old man patted him on the shoulder - O. Henry remembered later, he must have been 14 years old then.And the old man who lost his two sons in the war and just lost his only grandson smiled at him, the wrinkles on his face squeezed together into furrows.

"You too," he said. "You all."

"I'm proud of you."

But amidst this gratified and glorious smile, O. Henry suddenly felt great grief and despair squeezing him.That was the first time he doubted whether his battles and victories were meaningful, the first time he desperately mobilized the muscles on his face, trying to force a smile that was not so mean and ugly in response.

He couldn't do anything, and he left the narrow and dark apartment as if he was running for his life, not daring to look back at the old man watching him alone.

——For O. Henry, that was the beginning of everything.

Erye Tingming also regards this story as the beginning of everything.He likes the taste of this story very much, the excessive sourness and bitterness produced an unusual aroma, no one's fault is a complete tragedy, and there is a kind of sweetness like glass candy.

O. Henry's works are also the most empathetic among all transcendents.The intelligence officer's advantage of being good at observing details is subconsciously substituted into the article by him, so that every inconspicuous person in his writing is endowed with a fresh life, and he has the illusion that they are strangers passing by. A tragicomedy close at hand.

Japan in the Far East battlefield may be better, but none of the European countries on the main battlefield has any relatives and friends who have gone home, and no one has ever toasted them farewell.In mourning the hero is an omnipotent consolation, which seems to turn death and grief into something better.

But when tears fell on the inside pages of the magazine, and his eyes were suddenly so blurred that he couldn't see the words clearly, the great grief and despair that O. Henry once experienced crashed into his heart like a runaway train.

Why fight...

When will the war end...

It turns out, it turns out that they have also had such doubts in their hearts countless times. Like O. Henry, they have long been fed up with this never-ending war of loss and despair. They imagined that there could be a button to pause the war.

It's just that O. Henry put his fantasy into action, and those companions who were also fed up with the war.

and those...

The elementary school teacher who lost all his students under gunfire, the smug veteran who was forced to brandish his knife at his comrades, the painter who just longed to paint something he loved...

Even orphans who lost their parents and lived on the streets just trying to have a home...

Those who have been accused of being terrorists/rebels, who have been abused and spurned to greet eighteen generations of their ancestors, were once the most ordinary ordinary people who just longed for a better life.

Just like you, just like me.

[It's not intolerable, it's not intolerable, it's what I was taught from birth. 】

Wilde wrote in the article that his style of writing is as light as the singing of birds, inexplicably reminiscent of bright and beautiful flowers-he was very good at painting landscapes when he was young, the flowing water, the green mountains, the mottled and gorgeous light and shadow, the canvas is unrestrained Live in thriving freedom.

【I can't keep a poisonous snake in my chest forever, I can't wake up every night and plant thorns in my soul. 】

A little spark of hope is enough to ignite a keg full of madness. If you have the same strength as me and stand in the same position as me, anyone may become the next betrayer.

[Please don't come to understand me. 】

Verne exhorts everyone who reads his story. He just celebrated his 15th birthday not long ago. He made a cake out of compressed biscuits and tins. The roar of gunfire outside was his birthday candle. He was simple and happy on Nevernd Greet yourself one year older.

He can't wait to share this day with everyone, and those who read this story can't help but sigh with a sigh that he is still a child, but he is mature and sober in controlling the direction of his life.

[Not being understood is the only thing I am proud of. 】

[I know that I am walking on the road to hell, and everything I have done is a crime.My companions and I are sinners, traitors, and demons who will go to hell. What we do is only for our own selfish desires, but because we can't bear it. 】

The story of Cervantes is at the end of the magazine. The absurd stories with black and white reversed are like the ravings of a madman, and he ends with a relaxed and humorous tone like a conversation.

[Here is my tribute to you all. 】

[Here are the stupid and cowardly deserters, the despicable and vicious criminals, and the selfish traitors. 】

【We solemnly declare—this is a heroic act. 】