White City Murder Expo

I am the seventh child in my family, not the last.How many babies my mother gave birth to may not be clear to her.By the time I was 17 there were five people in my family, my brothers and sisters—they were born crying and disappeared like a pebble in water.I believe they are all dead, otherwise, why do I have such a large family, when I walk on the street and look around countless times, I feel so lonely?

My father was a clerk, British, trying to keep up, but the money he brought home was eaten like a bottomless pit.The children in the family seem to be endless, and the room is full of crying. On the contrary, he is extremely silent, but then I also think that he may be ashamed to show his stuttering habit.

In my impression, he is a silent cube who moves around the house and is used to giving orders to my mother: cook!Go mend clothes!Shut-shut-shut up the youngest's mouth!As soon as he stuttered, he became angry, and accordingly, my mother and our older children would be unlucky.

Mother probably has three pairs of nipples like a cow, otherwise how can she keep so many mouths closed?According to this reasoning, she still needs to have four hands, one pair for cooking, one pair for washing diapers, one pair for mending clothes, and one pair for her husband, otherwise she may have to create a new child.

What's her name, I've forgotten, I just know it's a cute name that's ridiculous, Mabel?or--

"Bitch!"

My father often beat her and scolded her.Once he deafened her in one ear, and once he pressed her head into a goldfish bowl, and the water gurgled.She ate a goldfish when she raised her head, and I saw a quivering tail protruding from her lips and disappearing after a while.

One time, for some reason, I threw her off and said "what do you know, bitch?" hum feeling.After a while, before my tears flowed down, she hugged me and cried, "Suey, you can't call me that, only you can't... I only love you among so many little bastards, you must never Can't—how dare you?"

The next day she went out to buy groceries and never came back.My dad had to start washing diapers, babysitting, and had a nervous breakdown.

At first he said the bitch must have run away with someone.When he said this, his mother had been gone for most of the day, and I said something might have happened, but he didn't believe it.I don't want to see that nonchalant expression again. I looked at his square face and suddenly felt an urge to pick out his eyeballs. I wanted to grab his head and smash it against the wall. Picture him going from yelling to begging for mercy to not making any sound at all.I looked at him and said nothing.

He was annoyed at first, but lost in the long stare at each other, and finally looked away.I looked at him, watched him reach into his pocket and grab the handle of the gun in his pocket.

"You've got to fucking go find her," I said, "or we're doomed to die and go to jail tonight."

He couldn't find her, but no one died, and no one went to jail, as if I told a joke.

Three days later, the Chicago police fished up a female corpse from the river. I sat next to the corpse and smelled the smell of damp corpse.I woke up and sat on a bench in the police station with a blanket that smelled of livestock draped over my shoulders.

"Congratulations," they said.

I said, "This is not my mother."

My mother is not so fat.Her fingers are long, not like this, white and swollen like a turnip, don't know who she is, definitely not my mother anyway.

Later I went to study surgery and dissected countless corpses, prostitutes and homeless people who died on the streets, dug out from graves, famous or unknown, regardless of the occasion, I always suddenly think of the corpse that was swollen with blisters.I can no longer go back to the age of 17, I can't disassemble her with my own hands, I can't find out if she is my mother, there is a 42/[-] probability that I will go completely crazy after learning the truth, and I can choose never to explore.I am [-] years old.

"You don't see how big it is," said Susan. "Oh! . . . But Butcher is seventeen, too."

I came back to my senses, smiled at her, and stopped the car on the side of the road. There was a coffee shop nearby.She took a deep breath as soon as she got out of the car, and I said, "Strange smell, huh?"

"A little bit," she said.

"More than that! But I can't help it. My house is near the United Animal Center. This cart looks like a living thing like a horse, and it stinks."

Susan frowned: "Strange, it doesn't seem to smell like livestock."

"Perhaps distilled."

She laughed.

While drinking coffee, sitting opposite each other, I found that the collar Susan wore today was too high, which was boring.

I'm different from her in that I don't study science and engineering, but if you look at it on a large scale, you should study mathematics anyway.I really didn't expect to talk about sine and co-sine when I was alone with a woman, but seeing her smile, we can also say that we have a very happy conversation.

"It's not easy," I said, "female teacher. Actually, I'm in favor of liberating women from the kitchen." I do support liberating women, but I want to liberate them from unnecessary clothes, and pretty women wear less It is beneficial to all mankind.

I started talking about how I thought she could build a bomb, which probably didn't make much sense, but the way I always said things incongruously was probably ridiculous.When Susan laughed, I looked at her, and she looked honest with those thick, round eyes.I think it feels good to be like this, except my butt still hurts a little.

Immediately afterwards, Susan talked about Butcher.She said that Butcher was taciturn and lonely at school, seemed to have something on his mind, and seemed very withdrawn in general, and she was very worried about him.

I asked, "Does he have no friends at all?"

Susan shook her head, and after a while, she suddenly said, "Oh! A girl from a lower grade came to him."

My heart tightened a bit: "Who is it?"

"Petra...?" Susan struggled to recall, "it's a long time ago. She came only once, her eyes were red from crying, and she called Butcher out, I don't know why. Then again Neither. Her teacher, Mr. Swift, who I know very well, complained today that she played truant from school and her family couldn’t be reached.”

After hearing this, the small porcelain spoon "ding" on the rim of the cup.

"It's so—" I tried to maintain an expression of indifference, "it's a pity. Children are always annoying adults."