Give a bellflower to the drowning ghost

47

Wang Ze said: "But even though you rarely come into contact with humans, I don't feel that you are very disconnected from the outside world..."

The ranger shrugged his shoulders: "I can play games, read books and newspapers. Aren't you college students busy doing such things in the outside world? It's all the same. Whether you are in the crowd or far away from the crowd, everyone They are all only interested in the things they care about, and exchange superficial greetings with each other."

Wang Ze frowned, thinking hard about the arguments that could refute the ranger.

The ranger added for him: "The only difference is that I don't have sex here."

Wang Ze was speechless.

-04

The ranger had thought he would never have the chance to see the strange liar again.

If you're just looking for a scenic place to end your life, there are plenty of other options.

The forest ranger who was thinking like this met the writer again by the lake.

The writer said, "Hi."

The ranger held his breath: "...what are you doing here?"

The writer said innocently: "Collect materials. You see, backpacks, cameras, notebooks, everything is available."

The ranger was a little desperate: "If it was because of my bad attitude last time that I incurred such revenge, then please at least give me a chance to turn back time."

The writer said: "This is something that can't be helped. If you can't die, you have to eat. If you want to eat, you have to submit the manuscript. This time, let's just write the story of the person who wants to commit suicide and the perverted murderer in the deep mountains."

The ranger said: "Please spare me, sir."

The writer said: "Don't make a sad face, this is a paid material, paid."

The ranger said, "How much?"

Enough to buy a new gasoline generator.

-05

A writer's backpack is bulging with all kinds of things.Relieved, he puts his backpack on the ranger cabin floor, pulls out a few packets of potato chips, then a PSV, then a ball of sleeping bags, spreads out next to the ranger's bed, and lays on top of it Playing games while eating potato chips.

The ranger said, "You call this collecting materials?"

The writer said, "Any questions?"

The forest ranger said: "You can find a hotel somewhere to collect materials in this way, instead of going to the deep mountains and squatting in a broken house with a sweaty man."

The writer stared at the game screen: "Have you read the book I wrote?"

The ranger sat down beside him: "I've read a book or two."

The writer said: "Then you should be able to see that I am actually a person without talent. I lack empathy, no friends, no lovers, and a bad relationship with my family. Most of the things I write rely on I imagined it, or just packaged what happened around me and wrote it out.”

The ranger said, "But it seems to be selling well."

The writer thought for a while and said, "Probably because everyone doesn't have what I don't have, so few people see through it."

The ranger said, "What does that have to do with you lying here playing games?"

The writer revealed half of his face from behind the PSV: "Because my subject this time is you."

The ranger raised his eyebrows: "Pervert killer?"

The writer pointed out: "Your expression is quite suitable now."

-06

The rangers didn't see anything amiss at first.

He didn't pay too much attention to the writer, he continued his usual routine, patrolling during the day and resting at night.The writer is very quiet. When he is hungry, he will find something to eat by himself. Occasionally, he will take out his tablet computer and write a few lines to save, but most of the time, the writer just plays games silently in his sleeping bag.

Until the middle of the night, the ranger woke up and was thinking about his dream, when he suddenly found that the breathing sound of the writer under the bed was very unnatural.

"Are you breathing?" the ranger asked.

The writer's answer was quick: "Huh? No, I just woke up from a nightmare."

The ranger said, "Liar, you weren't asleep at all."

A moment of silence.

The writer's voice came from the darkness: "Seriously, how did you find out? It's so powerful that it's a bit creepy."

The ranger turned on the lights.

The writer was lying in a sleeping bag, wearing only a pair of shorts, and clutching a mobile phone tightly in his hand. He smiled at the ranger: "I'm playing with my mobile phone."

Yet there is no signal at all.

Only then did the ranger realize that the writer's state was completely wrong.

His hand holding the phone was trembling, the dark circles on his face were very serious, he was obviously thinner than when they first met, the clothes on his body hadn't been changed for a few days, and his eyes were even more slack.

The ranger said, "Are you not used to living here? Very uncomfortable?"

The writer put the back of his hand on his forehead, trying to block the ranger's scrutiny: "No, it's an old problem, but I didn't expect the old problem to occur here... Can you please pour me a glass of water? Maybe I will take some medicine. Better."

The ranger said: "Before taking the medicine, let me take you to a place, not far away."

The ranger turned out a folded wheelchair from an unknown corner.

The writer said: "There is such a thing?"

The ranger said: "You don't mind the things my adoptive father used before."

The writer laughed and said, "I don't mind."

The ranger put on a T-shirt for the writer, and easily picked him up and put him on the wheelchair. The writer embraced the ranger and sighed: "Human body temperature is really high."

-07

The ranger took the writer out in a wheelchair.

It is not easy to move in a wheelchair in the forest. The forest ranger even thought about whether it would be easier to carry him on his back.

The ranger put the searchlight on the writer's knee, and the writer knowingly held the lamp. Although his hands were still trembling, the shaky light still illuminated the way forward for the ranger.

The ranger asked, "Is it very bumpy?"

"No, it's quiet," the writer said.

However, the woods in the middle of the night are full of insect courtship calls, which never stop.

The rangers managed to bring the writer to the lake after a detour.

The writer fumbled to turn off the searchlight, and exclaimed, "This is... a firefly."

The moonlight fell on the lake, and the shapes of the branches and leaves could be vaguely seen. All the scenery was merged into the darkness. Only the moonlight and the dots of fireflies became the only light source here.

The ranger was a little embarrassed: "It's still a little early, the number is very small, it will probably look better in a few days..."

The writer said, "No, it's beautiful, it's really beautiful."

The writer found the ranger's hand in the dark and felt the cold sweat on his hand."Thanks for bringing me here, even though you hate the night," the writer said.

The ranger didn't withdraw his hand: "You know?"

The writer said: "It's a bit of a feeling, after all, you won't go out when it's dark..."

The writer walked to the lake with the support of the forest rangers. The two of them dipped their feet into the lake water together, stepped on the smooth and wet pebbles, and watched fireflies flitting across the lake like phantoms.

The writer said: "It's so cold."

The ranger said, "Have you eaten? Today."

"Forgot," said the writer.

Writer asks: "Why do you hate the night?"

In the dark, they could hardly see each other clearly, but they could communicate with more peace of mind.

The ranger sat down next to him: "My adoptive father is a stubborn good old man, or should be called Grandpa, because he is too old, stubborn, and has a lot of self-esteem. He is always very concerned about whether he is doing his duty. Well, even if the weather is bad and the body is not feeling well, he will continue to patrol the mountain. Obviously, this is just a broken mountain. Probably because he is too reluctant, he insisted on walking into the mountain one night, that's it, gone."

"Is that so?" asked the writer.

"That's it."

The writer smiled silently in the dark: "Lies."

After a moment, the ranger admits: "It's kind of creepy."

-08

The next day, at the insistence of the ranger, the writer ate something, and then he went down the mountain.

The writer said: "The medicine I brought is almost finished, I should go back and prescribe some more."

The forest ranger said, "Okay, I'll wash your things first in the next few days, and dry them when you come back. After all, I charged you a lot of money."

The writer smiled: "You are so kind."