White City Murder Expo

Petra and I were involved in a brief, secret love affair.Originally, she came to our house for dinner every Friday, but now she has upgraded to come every day as long as she is in school.The dinner was getting bigger and bigger for her, and I liked the way Petra sucked her finger when she finished the cream; I told Butcher it was all for him, and hoped he'd grow an inch or two taller, It's better to marry a wife that way.Apparently I didn't have Petra in mind when I said that, and he was noncommittal.

Safety is a concern, I say, so I drive Petra home every day after dinner.Did I mention it?A comrade-in-arms of mine who suddenly became rich after going to New York gave me an old car, a pickup truck.Since I don't know how to fix it, I try not to open it.

Soon, Petra was sitting in the passenger seat more than Butcher, always sitting cross-legged and humming songs in Spanish.Sometimes we would stop abruptly in the middle of the road to kiss, oblivious to the stench of cattle and stale blood outside the window.

There are often moments when I feel very much in love with her.But I'm sure none of the three of us who sit around the dinner table every day want Petra to be Butcher's stepmother, let alone when she's only sixteen-seventeen-sixteen?How old is she?

Every night when I came home late, Butcher would open the door when he heard me open the door, and stood behind the door and looked at me silently.For this look, I came up with many reasons.Every wheel on my car broke once, and then I changed my mind and said I was going to buy cigarettes.To add credibility, I would carry a pack of cigarettes in my pocket during the day, take it out at night when I got home, and put it on the table, pretending that I just bought it on the way home.In this way, the smoke in the house has accumulated more and more, and they have piled up as high as a hill, the sum of these ridiculous days.

The speed of smoking can't keep up with the speed of buying cigarettes. Some of the cigarette casings were even eaten by mice. That mouse, it was not poisoned by arsenic. It seems that it has never returned to the nest since that day, indifferent guy.

How much did Butcher know?I have no idea.I always had nightmares during that time.I dreamed that Mathilde was wearing a long red dress, holding a fish tank, sometimes there were dead goldfish with swollen eyes, sometimes it was green water three fingers high, and sometimes it was empty.I also often dream about my imaginary friend, he is not gentle to me at all, I decided to classify him as my imaginary enemy, but categorizing him does not stop him from touching me in the dream.I find that he doesn't kiss me anymore, even in dreams, and I can feel that he hates me.Why?

One day Petra didn't kiss me before getting out of the car because she asked me for a necklace and I said no.A girl who casually sleeps with her boyfriend's father is so vulgar, and I got the cold shoulder from Petra, visibly.Feeling lonely, I turned my attention back to Butcher, only to realize that he had probably stopped speaking a long time ago, that he had brought the sickness of silence home with him.The house smelled of silence, of decay, heavy damp sawdust.

"You look like an old man."

I joked with Butcher, and he remained noncommittal.I started to get a little angry at his attitude, but because of Petra, I didn't dare to really attack it.Later, when I recalled that day, there seemed to be no special opportunity, and we started to fight the cold war.I am so sorry to have lost my son, although he was at home and not going anywhere.

**

The day before Independence Day, Butcher suddenly pushed open the door of my room. He said, "Tomorrow is Independence Day, Dad."

"uh-huh?"

"You said you would go to the expo with me, and it has been two months now."

Yeah?Oh, there is such a thing.I remember that I once promised to take him to see the World Expo, but I didn't expect so long to pass in a blink of an eye.Perhaps this is an opportunity to clear up the grievances.

"Okay," I said, "take your girlfriend with you."

I admit that there is a certain selfishness in saying this, but Butcher's unpleasantness is far beyond my imagination, as if Petra is not his girlfriend but his enemy.

"Could it be that you broke up?" I asked, "Oh, no wonder she hasn't come for a long time."

Butcher was silent for a long time before saying, "I'll call her."

The next day, Butcher, Petra and I drove to White City together. The Expo site was even bigger and grander than I imagined. Our car was parked next to a bunch of horse-drawn carriages, which attracted people's attention. Petra It was obviously very useful for this, and he came up to me with a smile, and wanted to hold my hand by watching the movement, but he suddenly remembered that Butcher was next to him, so he made a face and went to hold his hand instead.I noticed that Butcher ducked subconsciously, and Petra glanced at him, her complexion slightly rippling, but this kind of tacit interaction was just an innocuous episode.

The World Expo coincided with Independence Day, and the traffic picked up again, and I was amazed at the devotion some happy southerners had for the National Day.The three of us only had time to go to two halls. In addition, we also watched Buffalo Bill's performance and ate the latest popcorn.

We were all exhausted on the way home, and Pete stretched out into a starfish shape in the backseat.I peeked at her through the rearview mirror, and for the third time, she smiled back slyly.

"Sue," said Butcher suddenly, startling me.

"what?"

"Just open it again." He was referring to Petra's home.

"...That's right," I slammed on the brakes, "Okay, say goodbye to your girlfriend, Boots."

Butcher was indifferent, but just pulled the corner of his mouth, a sarcastic arc.

I've got the car out onto the road, and seeing his behavior, the mixture of accumulated irritation and guilt, the former predominates.I slam on the brakes, and Butcher, caught off guard, leans forward and back into his chair.

I asked, "What do you mean, Butcher? Putting on a dirty face for whom?"

Butcher didn't speak, so I was in a stalemate with him.The more I look at his calm, almost dull face, the more I want to beat him up.My Butcher, a beautiful 17 year old, when did he become this unlovable?

After a while, he relented.Butcher sighed deeply: "I broke up with her, a week ago."

"...why?" I asked.

"Why?" he asked me back.

Butcher's tone was soft, but there was something sharp in it that made me shudder.He didn't say a word, but I just knew it—he hated Petra.This disgust was enough to cover up any previous moment of disorientation, and I never knew why.

Since that day, Petra and I have also broken off.However, even without Petra's involvement, my relationship with Butcher did not go back to the way it was before, as if at some point I didn't know, he or I was suddenly set on another track that was drifting away. .I started drinking again.It's unbelievable, I don't remember ever stopping drinking until I got drunk so quickly that I suddenly found myself regressing so badly.But maybe part of it is because I'm old.

"You haven't bought a new bottle in over a month," Butcher said. "I thought you were alright."

"Alcoholics are alcoholics all their lives, and those people in Dwight are just drunkards in disgrace," I said with a big tongue, "don't send me to sobriety from now on, or I'll die."

Butcher sighed.

I was really, really, really really drunk.

After getting drunk, Butcher became the old Butcher again, the gentle kid who would sleep next to me and didn't mind my legs on his stomach.

when will he leave me?I recently thought about this question again.

At night, my imaginary friend--enemy?Whatever, appeared in my dream again, and this time I took the initiative to hold his hand.I put my cheek in his palm and wept bitterly.

Maybe he was comforting me?I don't remember, but at least the attitude wasn't bad.Alcohol is really a good thing.Everything, everything, was soaked soft and harmless.

The second day passed normally, and the third and fourth days were the same.Our lives are normal, and no one knows why——

There were no warning signs before that happened.

I went out early that morning and didn't come back until evening.As soon as I walked into the small courtyard, I didn't feel right. At this point, Butcher should be home, but none of the windows were lit.

Stepping into the porch, my foot stepped on something, very soft, kind of like a ball of sauce or something.I fumbled to turn on the light, and under the flickering light, I lifted my foot and saw something pink stained on my shoe.Moving forward, as far as the eye can see, there are bloodstains of dragging marks, turning a corner behind the door, and spreading all the way to the living room.

"My God, Butcher!" I burst into the living room screaming, "Butcher!"

In just two steps, my confused mind imagined countless possibilities, and suddenly bumped into a person, and subconsciously pushed him away.The man staggered, and I saw the fruit knife in his hand first, and then his face—Butcher.

I gasped for breath, it was great that Butcher wasn't dead.While feeling relieved, I looked at the blood on the blade in his hand and felt dizzy for a while.

I majored in surgery in college and saw countless wounded soldiers in Afghanistan.Before returning to the United States, I didn't have haemosickness, it slowly haunted me later.

"What happened?" I asked.

Butcher looked at me silently, his eyes were empty, his whole body was in a state of nothingness, like being here and not here.

My eyes passed over him and landed on the person lying on the edge of the sofa. The red dress made me stop breathing for a moment, like the suffocation I felt when I was attracted for the first time.Petra.

I pushed Butcher away, knelt beside her tremblingly, and pressed my fingers against her blood-stained neck. No matter how hard I pressed down, I couldn't detect a pulse. ...

I was as silent as if I had lost my vocal cords.I dragged my weak legs, closed the door, and locked it. When I heard the click of the bolt sliding into the buckle, my knees gave way and I fell to my knees.My vision was blurred, and it took me a while to recover, only to realize that I had fallen to the ground, looked up, and saw Butcher still holding a bloody knife in one hand, and a few long hairs in one hand , looking down at me with an extremely objective and indifferent expression.

From the beginning to the end, he didn't say a word.

He's not quite right, reason tells me.What should I... what should I do?The smell of blood in my nostrils prevented me from staying awake, and I was about to lose consciousness soon.Before I passed out completely, I kept repeating: "Don't turn yourself in."

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Hmm ＿(:з」∠)＿The only normal person in the full text died like this. Let us mourn for sister Petra for 1 minute. [There is Harmony, love hair see, mainly the bloody part]