White City Murder Expo

When I woke up the next day, I was alone in bed with new clothes, new sheets and pillowcases under me.I managed to get up, and when I stood on the ground, my legs kept shaking. I never walked like a cripple for a moment.

I have a headache and ringing in my ears.

Last year or the year before, I was sent to the hospital for drinking too much alcohol.All around me lay poor, dying fellows, whose most frayed looms were incapable of such a dreadful cry for help.They always want to live but can't live, I am different.I always find it strange that I'm already lying on the hospital bed, but I haven't died yet.

To my left lay an old clergyman, consumptive, and separated from us by only a curtain, as if he were on the other side of the confessional and we on the other.There were many people who confessed to him in a weak mosquito voice. As the person closest to them, I consciously covered my face with my head and said, "I have tinnitus."

You never know if the priest behind the curtain is awake or asleep, after all they always listen more than talk.But that day, he seldom opened his mouth and said to me: "You have to listen carefully."

"what?"

"The Lord...persuades you," he said with difficulty, "there must be signs...perhaps it is contained in it."

I said, oh.What I didn't say is that I'm not religious, and if that's the case, I'd rather he stop trying to persuade me.I can't stand noise the most in my life.

The next day I recovered and left the hospital. I heard that on the Sunday of that week, the old pastor died.Only then did I suddenly feel that there might really be a god in the emptiness. He did not hesitate to work overtime on his rest day voluntarily, and he also wanted to bring his servants back.

I moved to the bathroom, took off my clothes, and looked at myself in the mirror for a while, and found that the eyelids were thicker than usual, and the messy stubble made the whole face look dirty, like a hapless ghost who was completely desperate.

I start to take a shower.I tried to clean the inside, and my fingers fumbled around the outside, but I didn't dare to insert it.It's swollen.A hole so small it's hard to imagine how the thing could fit in.

What if there is bloodshed?Could something go wrong if something stays in it?It would be too embarrassing to go to the hospital.However, I feel as if I am not unclean.In fact, I smelled the soap on me when I undressed, maybe last night, Butcher... well, don't want to mention him today.

After I came out of the bathroom, I sat at the dining table, which was laid out as usual with bread, eggs, jam and a glass of milk.Damn thoughtful.

After breakfast, I went to the balcony, looked at the sacks on the ground, and fell into a moment of silence.I dragged it out, walked all the way to the living room, opened the door, and saw a note tucked in the corner of the carpet, which was written in very scrawled words: "What are you doing crying and screaming in the middle of the night? I really hope there is someone Who's dead. Better be you, bastard."

After reading it, I crumpled the note into a ball, stuffed it in my pocket, and continued to drag the sack out, putting it in the trunk of the car.Then I got in the car and was about to drive to Petra for the last trip and pick up some goods and come back.

When passing by a neighbor's house, I stopped the car, took out a ball of paper from my pocket, and threw it into his yard.There was a golden retriever dog that was lying in the kennel, and when I threw the paper ball, it flew to grab the paper ball. I touched its head through the fence and said gently: "Go to hell, dog bitch Heng special."

The dog still looked silly and happy, breathing heavily and rubbing its head against my palm.I spread my hands and told it that there was nothing to eat today.It tilted its head to look at me.

Not far away, the window was suddenly pushed open, and my neighbor, the red-haired hunk Hunter, was wearing his idiot shirt full of paint, his nose seemed to be up to the sky.

"Little sheep!" he yelled, and the golden retriever ran towards him quickly, and then he pointed at me and said, "You, stay away from my house!"

I sneered, raised my middle finger, and spat on his lawn—a week I probably wouldn't have done, the guy was younger and taller than me, and Butcher wasn't always home.I used to have a lot of concerns, now?fuck it.

I got back in the car, started the car, and the sound of the motor was very impressive.Here's a piece of life advice: It's best to show some respect to someone with a dead body in their trunk.

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I'm so busy these days, I hate my senior year