The Secret Code of Monsters

Chapter 780 Ch.77 Bohan's Paradise

In this uninhabited area, all the houses on the "Flower Street" seem to be of the same standard.

There is not much furniture in the room.

A bed and a faded table for candles - covered with old newspapers with the headline: The Empire is like the Sun.

When they entered the house, they closed the door.

Michelle Bonham burst into tears immediately.

It was like a switch was flipped.

"Please save me! Sir! Please save me!!"

Her knees went weak, and she tried to force Roland's trouser legs and leather shoes to absorb the tears. Her round belly hit the muddy ground, and she held his ankles tightly.

Nothing surprising.

Just like 'young people nowadays are so young' - her suffering is written all over her face and body.

"What happened, Mrs. Bonham."

Roland asked softly.

Although she was also poor before, at least she had a relatively "decent" house in Petticoat Harbor. She had children and a husband, and she didn't end up in this lawless place full of criminals.

“…He, he’s crazy.”

Yolanda cooperated with Halida and silently helped the sobbing woman up. When she supported her arm, the thin bones almost frightened Halida.

Even with a swollen belly, it's still as light as a feather.

"Crazy?"

"Crazy! Matthew is crazy! My poor husband! He...he sold the house! He sold all my children to...to..." Michelle stammered: "He lost his own flesh and blood in gambling..."

Michelle Bonham wiped away her tears, and her wet hair stuck to her dry face, showing a strange charm and temptation.

"And sold you here, too, didn't I?"

Michelle was a little embarrassed, her eyes were red, and she licked her lips: "...I have nowhere to go, sir, sir. No one will take in a woman like me..."

She stroked her belly tenderly.

The bulge is her and her husband’s last hope.

Unborn child.

Mother.

Poor fate.

Pity inflates like a balloon.

"How can I help you, Ms. Bonham?"

Miss.

This address made Michelle Bonham's face flush. She squeezed out the last bit of moisture, and when she raised her hand, she pulled the hem of her skirt, letting people see her socks: "For the sake of the child, sir, sir, for the sake of the fact that we have met and talked a few words..."

What do you want?

She couldn't tell it.

Because as Rose cursed, her eyes suddenly became clear for a moment.

then.

I couldn't help shaking.

twitch.

Tight.

Her mouth became dry and craved moisture, and she was uncomfortable in any posture.

"Ms. Bonham?"

Halida called her softly.

Michel Bonham seemed to be possessed. He pushed Halida away in a hurry, bent over, lifted the pillow, grabbed the cigarette holder and pipe that were covered with bite marks, and twisted them hastily a few times.

There was half a medicine brick wrapped in white oil paper under the pillow.

"Ms. Bonham?"

Her head was buzzing and she couldn't hear any call.

She sniffed the upcoming fragrance like a hyena drooling with eagerness.

soon.

The sudden gust of air brightened the sparks, and she seemed to hear groups of angels singing.

She finally relaxed.

Some children were running around her.

Sunshine, the smell of wet grass.

The aroma of hot dinner rolls.

The husband's call.

Bells and laughter.

She was paralyzed in bed, with her swollen belly pressed diagonally, her head and body at a weird angle, like a corpse with a broken neck.

"I'm sick, sir. I, I have no choice, I have to keep my child alive..."

Her eyes were no longer focused, and she scanned the vague outlines in the room blankly.

He suddenly laughed again.

"I need a magnifying glass... a magnifying glass... the sun... I don't have a window... I have... I have socks..."

All the muscles in her body relaxed.

Like a pool of meat paste, it flows and meanders through every sewer in the city.

Roland's voice became lighter and softer. Even those with hearing loss could sense the sympathy and sadness in it: "How can I help you, ma'am? You need treatment, right? You want it more than money."

"You look miserable."

She laughed and spoke nonsense, inviting death with the help of her living flesh and blood.

"How much does this cost?"

Roland asked.

“…It won’t take many. What are you going to do?” Rose looked grim.

She hated this thing that turned people into monsters the most.

"Go buy a small piece."

"Now?"

Roland grunted, fished out a few coins from his pocket, and made up ten pounds.

"This amount of money is more than just a 'small sum'."

"Then buy four more chairs, a speaker, and hire someone who can sing."

Rose curled her lips and didn't ask any more questions.

Push the door and leave.

In less than three or five minutes, she came back with three simple stools and a bag of oil paper tied with thin ropes, looking unhappy.

Give them stools to sit on.

Rose likes to sit at the table.

“Yes.”

It was tied with a thin rope and smelled like a piece of stale urine that had solidified and been left for two or three hundred years.

Roland moved a small stool and sat at the head of the bed.

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Like a pharmacist serving people, he filled it out and handed it over.

"Save you the pain, ma'am."

The honey-smelling voice blew into the woman's ears.

She moved her eyeballs with difficulty and slowly opened her mouth like a lunatic whose flesh and blood were in the South District but whose mind was far away in India.

Flames burst forth.

soon…

The fog rolled in.

Just like a baby knows naturally how to drink up the two bags of hot tears that have been stored by its mother for months.

The same goes for Michelle Bonham.

She felt the heat.

The relaxed muscles began to tense, and the heart raised its two arms high, hitting the drum skin made of blood vessels again and again.

Boom.

Knock knock.

"You are like a flame."

The sound came from far away.

yes…

Absolutely right.

I am a ball of fire.

She jumped out of her flesh and blood, flowing out from her nostrils, eyeballs and eye sockets, setting fire to the beds, straw and all materials that could be burned - she indulged herself in people's screams and fear, making them wail and surrender in tears...

Light compression of the heart.

The candlelight was bright.

I…

It's a fire.

Michelle Bonham floated up.

She saw Petticoat Harbor.

She saw herself acting sneaky, the child she had sold, the body of her husband bleeding to death, and one man after another.

She saw herself in their arms, saw some smoke, exaggerated smiles and tricks.

Press lightly.

Fog.

I…

I am…

What?

"You are fire."

I'm going bear hunting.

Bohan decided.

She wanted to burn bears, birds, and all creatures in the sky and on the ground. She was fearless, and her flesh and blood shrank into tiny particles that were difficult to detect with the naked eye, and were blown everywhere by the rising air currents.

She spread, burning those countries whose names were obscure, and using her temperature to dispatch the crown of mankind.

“Excellent.”

A very soft voice of praise.

She could not feel her limbs, her mind, or her 'self'. She began to question her own existence, or whether, from the beginning, her destiny was to become a ball of fire, a flame that destroyed the whole world.

She is happy and enthusiastic. She can separate white and black in the chaos, and can even reach the deepest part of the sky and turn into the scorching sun.

Her ambition grew day by day, as she collected more and more buckets of ointment...

No one can stop her.

'I'm going to heaven and burn those who are happier than me.'

She roared.

Yes.

The voice agreed.

You should go.

Go quickly.

Before night falls.

Michelle Bonham left early and went to heaven to complete her sacred mission.

But ah.

She is burdened with great sin and cannot go to heaven.

unless.

Unless she does not believe in the Holy Cross, then she will not have to suffer the torment of heaven and hell.

She could transform into a vengeful spirit, sneak into dreams, and order those who were capable to transport her body to the land where the ointment took root and bury it in the most fertile soil.

Then.

Let the joy of each cluster of ignition be mixed with her painful wails.

Fuck you.

She told everyone this.