Short stories | One night in Rosie

One Night in Rossi (Wuling)

Rosie didn't know which way to hang out from, which he had chosen last time because of the beautiful saleswoman in the fast food restaurant. Since changing sales clerks, all this has become boring again, and Rosie feels that life always needs to constantly find a hope for herself.

On the way, Rosie thought of his neighbors, who all seemed to be relishing their lives. Either for a car, or for some certificate, everyone worked tirelessly. But Rosie felt that all this didn't matter, they could need these things or give them up, what did it matter? Rosie's gaze swept over the pedestrians on the road, some laughing, some frowning, as if they had never changed. Despite being strangers, Rossi felt that it should all be familiar, and he couldn't tell how it was different from his previous days. The crowd of people in a trance made Rossi feel a pang of weariness, and he walked quickly back to his rented hut.

Rosie lifted a chair and sat down at the window, watching as the sky darkened. Rossi liked the location because there were no pedestrians in sight, only static buildings in the distance. In this way, he can calm down and think about his hopes for the next period of time. Rosie had always done so, and every time he found that hope made him feel alive, Rosie would then record them as a diary. But this time, Rossi never found a suitable hope, which even made him lose his job. The boss plans to let Rosie travel on business and negotiate business with out-of-town customers, but Rosie feels that there is no difference between talking and not talking, and it does not matter whether there is such a business or not. The sense of non-existence that came with not being able to find any hope prevented Rossi from working properly, and eventually he quit his job for several years. The boss felt sorry for him, but apparently Rossi didn't feel sorry for this, he just felt that the world of repetition was becoming more and more repulsive.

The lights on the street came on, and Rosie wrapped herself in the darkness of her room when she heard a group of young people laughing and walking away. Rosie felt that there should always be something to look forward to, and perhaps she could revel in the conversation with the opposite sex and friends like this group of young people. So Rosie turned on the light, opened the diary, and tried to write something out.

After staying for a long time, the pen still did not move, and Rossi wanted to start from the current ignorance.

"I've forgotten what it's like to belong to myself, and life seems to have quietly faded from color, without warning. I can't remember how long ago I couldn't find a suitable reason to live tirelessly again. I try to remember the day when I completely lost my hope, it seems to be yesterday, it seems to be any day that comes back to life, how can I be sure that my previous hope is real? Rosie lit a cigarette and swallowed the smoke ring unskillfully. Rosie didn't smoke very often, but he felt it was time to order one, which helped him think late at night.

This terrible thought does remind me that who can be sure that every day in the past that I cannot be sure has actually existed? Thinking like this, all the motivation that supports my life comes from feelings, and how real can I feel? The more Rossi felt trance-like, the more elusive it felt to be alive now.

"I had to find something real to sustain all my previous hopes of being alive. Can you find it, then life is still a life that exists? How do I examine every life experience that I thought was meaningful? Rosie stopped writing, obviously these questions were enough to rack one's brains, and Rosie couldn't write anything more before he thought about it.

The lights in the building facing the street outside the window also dimmed, and the sound of young people coming and going was particularly bright, and occasionally there was the sound of cars going back and forth. Rosie raised her head and closed her eyes. I thought of myself wandering from the street to the end of the street over and over again. All that seems to remain unchanged is this repulsive tedium.

Suddenly Rosie felt that living was as pointless as keeping a diary like this, just as the essence of life was meaningless.

Living like this, Rossi felt that it had nothing to do with dying at any time; Rossi felt that he was dead.