[Twilight] Bright sunshine

What's it like to be haunted by a vampire?So far, life has gone on.

Post-traumatic stress disorder has been tossing and tossing. In the last half of the summer vacation, I screamed and crawled out of the nightmare almost every night.

From time to time, I would fall into terrible pessimism. During the heavy rain, I ran to the Fox Forest alone, squatted under the cedar tree surrounded by five or six people, and looked at the thick and sticky moss, not afraid of thunder.

Most of the time, I don't know what I'm afraid of. That kind of frustration and helplessness is like a greedy leech, biting your flesh and blood so hard that you can't think about it.

This is a disease, but I don't want to cure it.

To me, as long as Charlie and Bella in Phoenix are not aware of it, it will be considered a success.

There is always a good day for this mental illness that hits so hard.Or this shadow will hide somewhere in my heart for the rest of my life, but I can still be a normal person.

Human beings, in this era, those who don’t feel hurt or regretful are ashamed to call themselves human beings.

When school started, I had a cold for a week and it didn't get better. During this period, Charlie took me to the hospital in various ways.Carlisle saw that I still looked like the great doctor. Although he was in charge of surgery in Fox, he was also famous for his pediatrics and internal medicine.

Well, seriously, there is no medical subject he can't understand, the difference is which one he can be better at.

Charlie has been dealing with my insurance compensation for medical expenses recently, and the insurance company is already paying compensation.I went to Seattle. The Yoshino cherry blossoms in the University of Washington let their branches criss-cross. I passed the Red Square and came to the front of the library. I saw people coming to put bouquets on the steps.

I stood for a long time, until the sun made my face hot, like a burning pain, and then I raised my umbrella and left.It was a bright sunny day, and the light illuminated the obscure and gray European-style buildings. I felt a pain of being evaporated.

It was as if the humidity and coldness that had been brought from Forks for many days had been dried by such a day.

When I came back, I went to the old farmers market in the northwest of Seattle. The market is located at the junction of Pike Street and First Street.It's a working holiday, and Seattle residents seem to flock here on this day.

I put away my umbrella, squatted in a second-hand bookstore at the entrance of the market, flipped through books for more than an hour, and then bought two magazines about music.

Then I wandered among the various vendors, bought two catties of apples and a fish, and there was a beautiful misty illusion that you would suddenly disappear in the tide when people came and went.

Seeing the white sunshade cloth on the stalls with various colorful fruits, I seem to be able to go back to the scene when the market was opened a hundred years ago, and vendors drove bullock carts from all over the world to sell here.

Before going back, I stood in line for half an hour in front of the Starbucks store in the market, bought a large cup of coffee for two yuan, and drank it while I went out, facing the sunshine in Pike Place Market in September, and the blue sky. step forward.

It seems as if you can hear the beating sound of the sun falling on the parasol, and the subtle warmth.

After returning home, I found a gourmet book published more than ten years ago on the bookshelf, and cooked fish soup according to it.Boil the fish thoroughly, and boil those hard skeletons bit by bit.Boiled twice and filtered three times, finally throw the pasta in and continue to cook, cut onion, tomato and ham as seasoning.

My cooking talent is not high enough. If good ingredients are cooked in a normal way, the final taste is mediocre.

Someone once said that cooking must be done with heart and sincerity, otherwise the cooked food will have no soul.

Sometimes I wonder if it is because I am not dedicated enough to myself that I make mediocre things without soul.

A small table was set up in the living room, facing the original large stone wall in the house, the southern pine wood stairs, various magazines stacked under the stairs, and the non-flowering green plants planted on the window sill, Pick up the noodles with chopsticks and eat slowly.

The chopsticks are craft chopsticks, purchased online on Amazon.I also often buy second-hand music albums or genuine computer software on it.

I woke up from a nightmare last night, and the guy named C has been haunting me all this time.

You will get used to the nightmare after a long time. Even if C suddenly appeared in front of me now, I might pick up the chair and beat him to the ground.If he had blood to shed, that's what I did in my dream.

Recently, I have been staying with the Karen family, so that everyone in the school thought I was the sixth adopted son of the Karen family.Alice said that she will pay more attention to the movement on my side for a while, and Emmett and Jasper will also strengthen the patrol in the nearby forest.

In fact, many times I wanted to say that I don’t need to be so troublesome. I don’t know why you do so much for me?But every time he saw Carlisle's gentle and kind face, he couldn't say anything.

The book Twilight is getting farther and farther away from my memory, but the Karen's house seems to be getting closer and closer to me.

After dinner, I went back to the bathroom on the second floor, and looked carefully at the girl's face in the mirror. It was a little strange, even though I had been with her for so many years.

Exhaustion is like an invisible silk thread, binding the corners of my eyes and mouth downwards, and the solidified paleness is like the powerless moonlight in the dark night, with indescribable weakness and loneliness.

Suddenly I felt that the whiteness of my skin was comparable to that of the Karen family, no, it was ugly.

Being too pale can be scary and completely lifeless.

I remembered the last time I talked to Carlisle about C's identity. Except that his letter came from Italy, there was no specific information.Compared with me, who has been leaked all these years, he is really a criminal with a high IQ. He can nag me about everything, but he never misses a word of the key things.

As for those letters, I hugged my head in regret and confessed to Carlisle, "I'm sorry, they have all been buried in a pile of paper." What did I do so impulsively, I threw them all in the trash can, forgive the neurotic behavior of a woman with a mental breakdown Bar.

"It's okay, Claire, as long as he doesn't really want to hurt you, we won't kill you all." The doctor patted my shoulder, his fingers were as cold as ice in summer.

Even if he doesn't come to kill me, I really want to kill him.

Of course, just think about it, compared to non-humans who can break boulders with their hands and fly large trucks with their feet, I am as weak as a cheesecake.

The discussion on C's identity has come to an end.The Karen family concluded that as long as he didn't come to find fault, he should be ignored.

I took a shower for myself meticulously, washed my long hair, brushed my teeth and washed my face, and then went to bed early.The soft temperature of the quilt pressed against my cold skin, and I told myself that I would be fine tomorrow and become normal.

Tomorrow will be better...it's all a lie.

Letters that I thought I would never receive again came back to me.

When I first opened the mailbox, I didn't know whose letter it was, because there was nothing marked on it, it was a simple white envelope, as white as an abyss.

The envelope was very thin, and I stuffed the letter into my schoolbag because I was going to school.When I arrived at school, I forgot to read it for a while, and only remembered it in the afternoon when the history of world civilization was taught every day. I erected the book and opened the envelope as usual.

The action of pinching out the letter paper with his fingers only stopped a third of the way.

"Honey……"

The black handwriting is thick and colorful, and the tails of the letters are sharp and flying, like the sharp feathers of eagle wings.

It's different from the kind of lingering and gorgeous rose vine style that the old lady nagging at ordinary times.

I tried to pull out the paper slowly, pulling the letter paper away from the narrow envelope bit by bit, as pale as pulling out my bones.

"...Claire."

Slowly, the name appeared first.

……"I am very happy."

This is the text, and the ink in the handwriting is getting thicker and thicker, like darkness.

"...I found my sunshine."

The sunlight solidifies into a boundless white field, only the words that seem to be breaking free from the paper suddenly become claws.

"……she,"

The paper was slanted, and I finally pulled it all out.

The last sentence finally appeared, like a starting point and as barren as THEEND.

"—She is my singer."

There are only these two lines of beautifully formatted text on the letter paper, and the rest of the blank space is like an abyss, long and cold.

I finally saw the last signature - "Your real friend-C."