Over the years I have been looking for ways to preserve my enthusiasm.

But of all I've been through, there's only one that keeps my interest alive.

That is

Unlucky.

Ever since I was in high school, so-called juvenile delinquency has been in the news all over the place.At that time, I felt that the criminal motives of those teenagers and girls killing people were incredible.For example: "Because it feels unreal", "I want to know what will happen if I kill someone", "I didn't expect the other party to die" and so on.

I always read these news with great interest. It is very unusual that my concern is different from other people. For example, where there is a murder, most people will care about the motive and modus operandi of the murder, but I am more concerned about the corpse.Whether there is artistic cutting.Torn apart.

In short, I'm a bastard who gets secretly happy when I see other people's misfortune.And the more bloody, the more excited... a girl.

I used to ask myself a long time ago.

What is fake?what is true

What is fiction?What is reality?

Am I really here or?Am I not a character in someone's fantasy story?

Even if I'm a fantasy character, is that inconvenient?

Where is the difference between reality and fiction?What is the so-called reality?

Is this reality really a reality?

I wonder if someone is watching my story somewhere.

I'm going to ask you a strange question, please don't get angry.

Have you ever doubted a textbook?

I am often skeptical.I am not a suspicious person by nature. For example, when you stop taking notes in the classroom and move your fingers, do you feel that the textbook content that suddenly comes into view is superficial-this is indeed suspicious.I think it's just black blotches on a thin sheet of paper, really unconvincing and fake.

True, I can't tell the difference between a textbook and a novel.They are all suspicious and very unreal.Because, aren't they all just words printed on them?Grown-ups tell lies, and even if they taught me to lie, we can only believe that weak lies are true.I hate this, reading textbooks sideways, another crappy story that can't be trusted.

History textbooks are okay, because my body was not created by history.

The problem is the biology textbook.

My body is made up of tens of trillions of cells.The whole body is covered with criss-cross microvessels, and the movements of the arms are caused by the contraction of the muscles under the command of the brain.

This is described in the textbook, but I can't witness it with my own eyes, so it is also very suspicious.I have never seen my own brain since I was born.

It feels fake, incomprehensible, and unreal.

What's the point of my desperately reciting the contents of the textbook?

Isn't the so-called school teaching just for everyone to understand lies, live with peace of mind every day, and spend efficient time being deceived?

At least study hard in biology class, once you break a bone, you will not panic, be at a loss, know that it is a "bone fracture" and not be afraid.

Recently, though, I've been doubting even that.Do you doubt that there is such a thing as a "bone" in your body?

What is fake?what is true

What is fiction?What is reality?

Am I really here or?Am I not a character in someone's fantasy story?Is there any inconvenience if I am a character in a fantasy?Where is the difference between reality and fiction?What is the so-called reality?

At the time I felt like a drunk, half asleep, with a constant fog in my head.I don't have any ideas now, and I usually look blank.Maybe it could be said that I was just staring into the fog in my mind, unable to understand the emptiness as emptiness, just staring at it incredulously.

why am i aliveIt was incredible to feel alive and alive.But—we don't usually bother with such things, and it's really hard to explain how incredible it is.Right, so it's suspicious.

I doubt my own existence, why is such a self here?I felt uncomfortable looking down on myself from a third person point of view.

Just don't think about it.It is happier to live with only the animal spinal reflexes.However, I was naively troubled, wanted to know the meaning of life, wanted to be sure that I really existed, and became a fool who was always thinking about it.Anyway, I am who I am, really weird.

April, spring is the season for Commencement Ceremonies.It's a brand new year for students.Although it is possible to change the mood, they are the same as last year, and they have not changed much.Undoubtedly, for the students around, their "last year's self" and "this year's self" are the same person, and they talk to me with the same attitude as last year, which is a bit puzzling.

Every New Year, I leave last year's me in the past, so in every sense, everything becomes a blank.Other than barely keeping the name "Wendy," I literally forgot everything and turned it into a blank slate.

It seems simple to explain that situation, but it is actually very difficult.Well, it may be easier to understand it by comparing it to a video game.That is RPG (※RolePlayingGame, a role-playing game, a type of computer game. The player plays one or more team members in the virtual world and plays the game in a specific scene.).Whether it is reading, love, club activities or friendship, other students follow such adventures to accumulate experience points and carefully record them to complete the year.However, in my own way, whether it is reading, love, club activities or friendship, I forget the good record gained from these adventures and become a blank slate.

Although it would be good to start playing new games as soon as the new year is over, but I didn't record it, and I can't do anything about it.Just like in the original video game, the junior adventurer with only a name is suddenly programmed into a fifty-level adventurer during the journey.The equipment on my body is different, and the monsters I fight are also different. The information provided by the villagers also makes me puzzled.

I was in that state.So, I often think about it.

Not sure why I'm here.

"Wendy, we're in the same class again!" If someone said that, I couldn't respond immediately.Unknowingly, four girls gathered around me, they were all laughing, feeling a little scary.

I nodded vaguely, and a girl who seemed to have a kind face but didn't seem to be smiling cheerfully. Her eyes were big and round with double eyelids.

"Hehe, Wendy, you are still the same."

Yeah?I do not understand.Which feature of me does she use to identify "I'm the same"?I don't even know who this girl is smiling at me.

I tilted my head in thought, and accidentally looked up, and found a boy staring at us from a corner of the classroom, so I also glanced at him.

As a result, he immediately looked away, as if saying to the boy next to him, "It's so scary...she stared at me."

I didn't stare at him.

"Wendy, your eyes are scary!"

The girl with double eyelids said so happily.

Where is it?

I couldn't help muttering, the girl smiled confusedly, and started chatting with the girl next to me about how the tutor was, or how the boys were.Why are they chatting near my seat?I find it incredible that I can't help but look at them.But I don't understand what they're talking about.

I like writing, and the behavior of "writing" makes me feel that the reality is very vague.Writing—whether it’s novels, poems or diaries, writing in a notebook with a pencil or typing with a computer, I think there will be a virtual world created by myself, with "I" as the god.

In that world, I am God.It has nothing to do with law and common sense.

Example: In that fictional world, I have a character named "Wendy" appear.I can let her have an unforgettable love, or experience a thrilling adventure...even let her be killed, this is my freedom.

In fictional worlds, I could kill myself several times.

That said, I found that I could kill myself in that world.I know that whether it is my life, my soul, or the basic concepts I think are absurd in reality, just one sentence, "Destroy Wendy", can get rid of me.

Of course, those are all stories in the fictional world where I am God.In fact, in the world I live in, which seems to be called reality, it is absolutely unimaginable that I will encounter such unkind words.

However, I am very scared.

Is this really reality?Not one of those fictional worlds created by someone?I doubt it.This question can't be solved like a curse.

Is this reality really a reality?

I wonder if someone is watching my story somewhere.

----

My family, from the age when I only knew "quack", they are by my side as a matter of course, so I didn't think about it.But when I revisited them, I had no idea who they were.Don't understand why I would live with them?

I live with three families.In other words, I lived under one roof with three strangers.That is without a doubt, not surprising at all.The so-called "family" is like this.

People who are related by blood mostly live together.

This is such a world, with such laws and structures.So, you have to accept it.

People who cannot adapt to the structure of this world will definitely be rejected by this world.And when the author writes a novel, he will deliberately make inappropriate characters disappear without a trace.

Therefore, I am also integrated into this so-called "family" structure now.

I don't want to disappear from this world.

Originally ambiguous I do not want to disappear.

Reality seems phony lately, and it's unsettling for people like me.Elementary school students killed classmates with a box knife "because they were dumped by their lovers"; high school students blew up classrooms in order to "revenge".

Whenever a kid commits a crime that looks like a novel, there is bound to be a scholar who blames it on fiction—watching too much TV, comics, and games, and adults will come and condemn it.

I am all for that theory.

Those children do not have reference books such as "domestic violence in moderation" and "bullying to the point", and the school teachers and parents will not show them examples of "bullying the weak", so people who do this kind of behavior, It will first refer to the content of TV, comics and video games.

Bullying, stalking, or child delinquency, things like that are increasing — I think because there's more fiction about those things.People who grow up accustomed to strong stimuli such as violence, blood, torture, malice, etc., they commit a small crime and will not be punished due to their conscience, they are completely bewitched.Is this okay?

It's not just about crime, fictional stories also affect our very ordinary everyday life.

In a world full of fiction, everyone is referring to fictional stories.Everyone wants to come out on stage and play the characters on TV.We need to laugh in this scene, we need to cry in that scene, and we can cry and laugh reflexively if we plunge into it.It was not my own will, but a fictional character like someone described playing a certain role.

In order to perform such a lackluster reality, all kinds of equipment have been set up, and people also support this reality with their own acting skills, thinking hard about how to create a more interesting "story" from this so-called "reality" of life.

As such, reality becomes a poor replica of fiction, and the sense of reality is completely lost from the world.Reality sinks into fiction, and we are reduced to characters in the drama.

However, we know that fictional stories will one day end.Turn off the power and the TV show will disappear.Close the book, and the novel will no longer be read.End the video game, and the virtual adventure ends.

To simply end a fictional story, with a single finger, mercilessly destroys it.

So, is reality gone?Is this reality that we are desperately close to fiction missing?

In fact, human life is impermanent.We all know that everyone can die at any moment.However, deep down in our hearts, we do not doubt the absoluteness of reality and our own immortality.

Is reality really that clear?

Is this reality that we cling to and guard so carefully, really such a great thing?Is this reality, mixed with fiction, fused with lies, so ambiguous, so good?

The so-called "reality" is a fiction from which we are just unlucky enough not to escape.I think so because when I was writing a novel, I felt that I was really out of this reality and ran into the fictional world I created.

At that time, the real me disappeared, and I was traveling in my own world.

I suddenly don't want to come back from the imaginary bliss that sits high above reality, doesn't it?

Why do I have to live in this reality (world)?

I have malice against the world.

"Do you just like to see other people's misfortune so much? You obviously live a very happy life! How did your personality become so distorted?" A voice said to me full of interest.

?

who is it?

Things overlap before my eyes.

"Since you like misfortune so much, go and experience other people's misfortune. At that time, will the malice in your heart still exist?"

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