On the night of the death of my third uncle 8 years ago, click the link to enter reading mode.
I went through the long conjuring thing, which is too strange to think about, and now I remember it carefully. There were many flaws everywhere, and I saw him for the first time. In the summer of '04, the glass pond in the village could still catch fish. The water is deep and smells sandalwood. The older generation in the village said it was the result of decades of rainwater. At that time, there was nothing to do, and each village dug such a pond to store water and irrigate the fields. Don't look at this pool of water as clean as fast forward, but the farmer and God scoop - water the water of the pool, that is living water. That is, when my third uncle and my mother were not married, they followed the like-minded grandfathers and ran to the west to work as talents. The Meihe Taoist priest also had an inch, but he would not stand in line and would definitely be squeezed away.
Thousands of dangers, the body and the rock - burst together, and the bang blasted most of the people back. The remaining less than half and the broken pieces are aggregated into piles. When the pieces of meat are picked up, no matter how you spell it, you can only spell out an animal, but you can't spell a human form, so you simply squeeze the sack pile. Pull to the crematorium to gather on a stove, and when you come out, you divide the ash from the pile into 5 cans, and the names are affixed to the cans. Let illiterate white-haired people look at people who identify themselves as black-haired. That day, I was at the edge of the barge pond, Internet addict Rwanda came up with a cigarette, pulled two bags of chicken tail rings from my trouser pockets, patted my head and recognized my nephew. He was tall, his cheeks were fleshless, and his smile was two pits. Wearing a pair of orange short-sleeved pants is corduroy. Back then, this dress was very fashionable, but now it is trendy, and the eyes look very similar to my mother. I recognized him as an uncle. I asked him a lot of questions, most of them related to play. I asked him what was the most exciting and he said bungee jumping. I didn't know the concept of bungee jumping, so Rwanda was my third uncle. Caught a toad in the grass, and six or seven stones at the waist turned into a whole, allowing the toad to stand on the highest place. The third uncle's thumb supports, and with a flick of the middle finger, the toad falls. The falling water fell rapidly, causing the early frog's tongue to point exactly 10 sides. My third uncle often spat out a puff of smoke and told me that you are a toad. This is bungee jumping, jumping - leaping to meet your new world. The toad stopped struggling many times and finally fell unconscious, and I looked at the toad who had lost his soul. Q: How to deal with the third uncle toad? The third uncle said that he blew him up. So my third uncle returned home with the toad and me holding a bottle of seeds.
My grandmother played mahjong in the front yard, and my father drank a lot of wine in the backyard. I sat on a wooden stool in the kitchen and watched my uncle lift the oil pot - scoop water to wash the toad, and the oil quickly boiled. The third uncle grabbed the rope and threw the toad into the pot, and a purple, blue, purple and blue smoke came out of the pot for a moment. The brown-gray toad was blown out of golden yellow, and its limbs were all curled up, looking like a boneless fried chicken leg. The third uncle ignored my cravings, and two or three chopsticks solved the meat in the bowl. I drooled with hunger, but my chest was nauseated. Since then, I have felt that there is something wrong with my third uncle in Rwanda. Zhao Murakami said that he was cursed by a ghost, and the third uncle was satisfied and wiped his mouth with his arm, and his eyes came to Ha in my arms, I felt that he wanted to narrow the door, but he just touched his stomach and burped, asking me not to talk to my grandfather. This kind of state of affairs caused a great shock to my young soul, and I did not dare to complain, and on the way home, I was stoned in the ground. The glass bottle is broken, the water carries the map that the bacteria have spread and gradually draws, the sun is exposed, and the lively love is quickly drained of the moisture. Murakami's dog, Uyang, came and licked them into his belly, and I felt even more disgusting. I didn't eat a bite of dinner at night, and the golden toad hung in my head. My dad's slapped me to tears, and my mom started kicking my dad, but not my dad's tears. After two episodes of prime-time drama, my stomach sent a distress signal. I remembered the two packs of chicken tail rings that my third uncle stuffed me. Go back inside and close the door. Carefully cut the package with scissors. The chicken tail ring is also golden against the background of the desk lamp.
At this moment, I have forgotten that the toad gobbled up half a pack, for the possibility of not accepting chicken tail rings. It made me tummy stir in the middle of the night. When I woke up in the morning, I collapsed like shriveled rat fodder, my whole body glued to the bed, and my limbs seemed to be locked by air. My mother broke open my mouth and shoved two pieces into it, gently patting me on the shoulder and humming some wordless songs to me. But I'm not a lullaby. I went to sleep again and dreamed that Rwanda was married. The whole courtyard was wrapped in red satin, and I followed my parents to congratulate me.
The little ones are not interested in the bride, only in the banquet. I sat at the round table and watched my third uncle, dressed in a red robe, happily bowing to the bride and wife. Firecrackers sounded, and the helpers finally brought the dishes. These dishes look weird and don't look like human food. Until the big bowl was put on the table, what should have been steamed chicken turned into steamed toads. The toad was quite big, and the people at the table were crazy and scrambling, so I expected that the meat of the entire table was full of clams. After escaping the dream, my mother was still sitting on the edge of the bed, with a bib in her hand. I asked my mom what time it was? My mother turned to look at me, put her right hand to my forehead and said that the fever had subsided, can you sit up by yourself. The two legs began to support the back of the bed board, and slid back with the buttocks. I noticed my body rise again, and I giggled at my mother. My mother threw the bib on the bed quilt and went into the kitchen to bring two sweet potatoes, I was a little bit, because I knew that the sweet potatoes were golden brown when peeled, I didn't hold back, and applied all the reactionary juice in my stomach to the bib, and since then I can't swallow the golden yellow. The third uncle pointed out that I was sick and came to see me, and my mother ignored him, and he didn't feel hard and began to dig into his pocket again.
