White City Murder Expo

I came to Sirian's house on the weekend as promised.Andy sat on the dining table and polished a piece of wood, probably to make a small cabinet, and there was a semi-finished product at his feet.The electric fan was blowing on his side face, the curly hair fluttered on his face irregularly, his own hair was in his mouth, he didn't know if he was too busy with his hands or he just gave up and pushed them out over and over again.He glanced at me and continued to do what he was doing, obviously trying to restrain himself from saying anything.

I pulled out the chair and sat down, picking a random nail from the table.Andy glanced at me and said, "It's Cirrian's."

I instinctively put my hands down and then realized I was being threatened, which was kind of funny and kind of irritating.Andy has probably sensed Cillian's importance to me, and now he seems to be hiding himself behind this name to fight against me.Even so, I didn't lose my temper with him, because I don't know if it would make me look harsh, and I have rarely argued loudly before in my life.

Andy rattled a nail between the two boards with a small hammer.The hammer was pitifully small, held in his hand, it could only be used to hit crabs at best.

"Can I help?" I asked.

"Well," he said, "I can do it by myself."

When he said that, I couldn't continue talking.Andy's attitude disappointed me.I had made up my mind today to get along well with him, otherwise the day would be too long and difficult.So I've been trying to talk to Andy, and I can't believe I can't do something as small as this.

"Then what do you see?" I took out a small paper bag from my pocket and threw it to him, and he caught it. "What is it?" He asked, at the same time wiped his hands on his trousers, opened the paper bag carefully, and after a moment he couldn't help salivating - it contained the addictive painkillers I often prescribed to him before , you can see he misses them.However, he looked at them with such nostalgic eyes, but in the end he chose to wrap them up as they were and return them to me. "I've quit," he said.

"Do not make jokes."

"It's not a joke, Sue. Cillian has been helping me for no apparent reason, and even I think I've almost succeeded... While I'm still in my head, he'll teach me a few tricks, repair Tinkering, making gadgets, Cillian is good at that."

Of course, Cillian, ha, Cillian.Would Andy know his full name, and explore it with that indifferent willfulness?

"I know, I know, I know," I said, "he just likes to fix shit." Like Andy on drugs, and myself with a gun in my mouth.There is nothing special about Cillian, but we are almost equally moved to try to make ourselves better, to respond to expectations that may not have existed in the first place.

The oscillating fan creaked and turned, and a flying insect was suddenly sucked in. With a "pop", it was spit out again by the fan like melon seeds, and landed on the ground twitching.I rolled up my sleeves and nervously smoothed the folded cuffs, reshaping the folds; Andy looked at my wrist, surprised.

"What are you looking at?" I asked.It was only when I said it that I realized that my tone was so sharp.

"Uh," he said, "nothing."

"Andy," I said, rubbing my thumb over the scar on my wrist, almost maliciously, "where do you think these wounds came from?"

"I do not know."

"In order to keep," I said, "the day you heal is the day you are abandoned, so you need to make wounds and let him smell blood, otherwise he will leave without looking back."

"No," Andy frowned, "Cillian said we'll always be friends."

For an instant, I was stung.Cillian never told me what kind of relationship he would 'always' have with me, but I wouldn't let Andy know that.

"It's nothing. He's said something like this 1000 million times, and the words have long since lost their meaning and weight; he's left with nothing but tenderness worth nothing. It's hard to imagine Is it? When you get better, he'll leave you to find the next wretch in need of repair. At that point, too, you'll reopen the wound because you know you'll never There will be such a person."

Andy was still frowning, but he stopped what he was doing and became a little at a loss.He'd contradict me if he had the chance, but Andy, the dopey kid who's always on a high, is surprisingly not dreamy.He knew what I said was true.

But to my own slight surprise, Andy's dejected look didn't give me the slightest bit of pleasure, even though the words were meant to hurt.Suddenly, I don't want this topic to continue any longer.

Let's talk about other things, such as the white fog that can only be seen on the waterfront, the new high-rise buildings, the White City, and the crowded nights in Chicago.It was a fascinating idea that I could say things to my inmates that I wouldn't reveal to friends who were just dining with me: my marriage, my family, what had become a mess at some point; One can speak of a woman I met named Susan, who was both beautiful and unpleasant.These rambling thoughts cannot be put into paper and pen, otherwise the thoughts will disappear because they are far faster than words.For a moment, I realized that this might be the only chance to speak, but I opened my mouth halfway without uttering a word, letting the tiredness and shame that slowly climbed up sweep everything into silence.

"That little fox of yours," I said, and I ended up saying something irrelevant, "I want it."

"What?...I can make you another one."

"Is there any difference?"

"The new one will be better, Sue. I'll give you a better one."

"I do not mind."

"Oh, Sue." He looked a bit embarrassed, like I was being vexatious.

"It's probably going to be a long time," I said.By this time Andy was already urging me to make a choice, asking me to pick a piece of wood from a small box on the table, and then he started to make a new wooden figurine.He had already decided everything, so again I felt left out.After a while, I asked him again if he could give me the one I had made earlier, and I could see he was getting annoyed, so I didn't say anything more, just wallowing in my unhappiness in silence.In the end, Andy was just an accident that didn't go according to plan, so he is not qualified to respond to me with this attitude.Do I look easier to pass than Cillian?Did he easily forget that the gun was pointed at him, and he was so ashamed to cry because he peed his pants?Since the first meeting today, I have been trying to accommodate him. I have really done a lot, but he is not even willing to give me a worthless little thing.

I asked him, "If I were to kill you now, would you give me that little thing?"

"Stop kidding, it's not funny."

"Okay, sorry," I said.Once again I apologized before I knew it.

I didn't want to make fun of myself, so I took the initiative to go to the side, and sat alone on the sofa in a daze, listening to the sound of grinding coming from the dining table.Outside the window, the wind is sunny and the sun streams down from the gaps between the branches and leaves, spreading bright spots on the ground. In the shadows, there are birds standing still on the branches.Looking at such a beautiful scene, I felt a sudden cruelty, and felt that I could bear it no longer.

"Andy, do you know where the hammer is?" I asked, calmly.

"what?"

"Hammer. The more normal, less ridiculous kind."

Andy thought for a moment: "Is there in the basement?"

"Thank you." I said.

I went to the basement to find a hammer as he said, took it, walked slowly up the first floor, walked over, and stood behind Andy; he heard me, but didn't even look back, just concentrated on doing that. Statues that no one fucking cares about at all.

"Andy."

I gently called his name, the name he gave himself.Andy turned his head blankly, and at the same time, I raised the hammer and swung it down at his face.

There was an astonishing muffled sound as his head hit the table.He turned his head sideways, his forehead, where I hit him, was sunken, his eyes were open, and the whites of his eyes were red. After a while, blood flowed from his ears and nose.

Panting, I let go of my hand slowly, and let the hammer in my hand fall to the ground with a "boom", feeling relieved from the bottom of my heart, as if I finally finished a long-delayed thing.