After about six or seven hours of serial turbulence, my stomach turned upside down, and in a trance, freedom became a matter of the previous life. In fact, it has been like this for two days since I left the city detention center. The sun was pale and white, and at this time, it was hiding in the heavy, lead-gray clouds of the May morning.
It's been a long time since I've breathed the fresh air of the free world. As soon as I stepped out of the number, I suddenly felt that even the breath was much smoother. On the turret of the detention center, there are several armed policemen with loaded guns and live ammunition. A clean cool breeze is blowing in directly from outside the high wall through the power grid, and even has a mixed atmosphere of the world. Oh my God! It's been a long time, and the light at the top of the high wall is almost the memory of the previous life. Oh, how fresh the air of freedom is!
The large iron gate was opened, and a bus with a reinforced iron railing drove slowly. To be honest, we were suddenly flustered. Everyone viciously stuffed everyone's luggage into the bottom iron box and the luggage rack with limited space again. We were taken into the car in batches and lived like dead fish on strings. Once they were seated, the five guards twisted everyone's arms around again, or consciously raised them behind their heads, and immediately locked them in handcuffs to the back of the chair. In the last row are two armed policemen, and next to the door are the guards who escort the prison guards. The prisoner van was soon on the road.
The small city has just woken up from its slumber. A kind of noise that we are too familiar with to be familiar with, and I vaguely feel that this period of locking up has become a little strange. Restless and nervous, angry and noisy weave into a fishing net, and the light pierces the organs of our body like a steel needle. It is indeed a tearing pain! What the hell is going on, we really can't understand it, and we can't imagine how it has become so fragile. Where is the former pride, mad courage, impulsiveness, and unstoppable temper and irritable character? Suddenly, there was an inexplicable sadness, like a rising tide, which was about to swallow up our little people. After a while, waiting for the prisoner car to leave the city and drift away, the lifeless atmosphere in the carriage slowly returned. The sun had risen imperceptibly to the top of the prisoner car. The sky is blue, the leaden gray clouds are lonely and high, even a little lonely, and sometimes, huhula is also running.
It was only then that we suddenly realized that we had not seen stone houses, including mud-walled thatched houses, for a long time. It's strange that people and dogs don't know where to hide? Perhaps, it is the reason why I feel cold and lonely. I want to fend for myself! There may not be a need for a high-walled power grid, the vastness is vast, and the barren, desolate land itself is a prison. In fact, only the air soaked in the fragrance of flowers should be a truly free spirit, which will be blown away by the strong wind on the plateau and get help. Pollen is being sent to the boundless horizon of the proud shore as it pleases. We were careless, but we became lonely ghosts. Since then, we have no home, and we have become wanderers all over the world. Plant seeds fall to the ground, and when a drop of water occurs, they take root and find a new home. We are just wounded birds, lonely souls like pollen, but we can't rely on it, and we can't find a home. On both sides of the endless country road, the thatch grows wildly without any constraints, and the fluffy snow-white balma seems to float on the charming red color, and it turns out that the alpine azalea is in bloom. The vegetables are clustered, and they also dye the seven slopes and eight obliques into a sea of blood. The Grand Canyon is bottomless. The sky was so low that I couldn't look up at the top of the peaks.
What holds up the gray sky? A lumpy cloud about the size of a flock of sheep moved outside the car window and under the wheels next to it. The clouds fluttered, rolled, stirred, and let the wind blow. The window is cloudy. In the blink of an eye, a purple-red fog shrouded the peaks and valley floors. No houses, graves, or towns were seen. The big cities we've been familiar with since childhood are across the opposite side behind the rolling hills, far away. Suddenly, the sun was gone, and I couldn't tell the difference between east and west. The road is potholed. The plateau becomes like the sea.
The coffin-like prisoner cart is just like the same Ye Guzhou...... Outside the car window, next to our bodies, we floated farther and farther away to the small islands in the vast sea. Finally got out of the mountains.
We walked out of the incomparably oppressive cracks in the rocks, from the rocks, and from the primeval forest. We may be waking up from a nightmare. Everything in the dream doesn't seem so real. "Society is fake!" Immediately afterwards, the classmates in the prisoner car suddenly saw the low grass huts and stone houses on both sides of the road, and everyone breathed a long sigh of relief.
A middle-aged farmer, perhaps a hunter, happened to bend down to dig out the low doorway of the stone house. He straightened his cheeks with a numb expression and stood next to the door of his house, next to a large cage of cacti. He remained motionless as usual. I suspect he didn't even blink his eyes, and he was stunned to see the prisoner van pass by. The farmer's clothes were torn and his pants were torn, and even his feet in the grass were not shoeed. He wasn't looking, at best, waiting for the escort's car to pass. He had low self-esteem from beginning to end and did not know how to appreciate at all. The farmer or hunter in the depths of the Azabu River Gorge did not even have the joys and sorrows of normal people outside the mountains, and he had been accustomed to it for many years. He may still be a little envious of this kind of opportunity. yes, yes! The people in the courtyard arranged the mountain people, saying that although these people were locked up in high walls, they did not have to worry about food and clothing, they would not starve to death, and they did not worry about wind and rain. Life may be much better than him, and it is true that those who are locked up have no freedom, but for the middle-aged farmer at the mountain pass, the last thing he expects is freedom. How much does freedom mean to him? What it's worth! and it cannot be turned into oil and salt, or wood and rice, or shotguns, or medicine for wounds. He probably never thought that his children and grandchildren would go out into the mountains. In addition to doing farm work, picking wild fruits, and chasing prey, he occasionally walked behind the endless mountains, not to mention, behind the mountains are still peaks and cliffs. It is taller, steeper, steeper, and steeper. He had never known what the outside of the mountain was like, and he had never heard anyone talk about it.
He had never been to the county seat, and he had never even heard of the provincial capital. His family had never had an electric light, and his family had never seen television. Naturally, he himself had never seen the train. The only contact they had with the outside world was actually the shuttle bus and the prisoner bus. Long-distance buses only run once every three days, and sometimes, such as in the rainy season, freezing rain, heavy snow covers the mountains, the road is often broken quietly, in the pouring rain can not move six or seven landslides, a large number of prisoners dig the road about ten days and half a month. The long-distance bus will pass normally, and he will not dare to go far away, afraid that he will never come back if he goes out on the shuttle, so he will lose his wife and children. He didn't need any freedom at all, it just meant that he had to risk his life to hunt wild boars, otherwise his family would be starved of oil and meat. He is never afraid of lightning and thunder, not afraid of the threat of natural disasters, he can only slash and burn, sweat like rain every day, face to the loess and back to the sky. Or live like a hound. He wasn't afraid to do any of these things. He was only afraid that his family would be sick, that he would be cold, and that his whole family would not have enough to eat. In fact, he has approached the leaders of the nearby prison many times, asking him to put his whole family in a big wall, and he wants to sleep beautifully for three days and three nights.
This story is a classic legend of our courtyard house, almost as popular as jerking off. Belongs to the masturbation of the other.
He was supposed to do farm work and hunting, but he was trapped in the depths of the mountains and was about to go crazy. I can't hold back and often trouble the captain.
As soon as the captain saw him walking on the tractor road, he was furious, and he stood in the middle of the road and scolded him, so that the confused mountain man couldn't raise his head for a long time. Don't just talk about the captain, the instructor also made him dizzy.
"What are you like, you are not good at production, and you think that going to prison is like child's play." The instructor has never been so arrogant and unreasonable, "I have never heard of it, someone actually wanted to catch it and keep watch at my door until midnight." ”
We actually know it's all good guys pulling dick balls.
"Alas, those people lived so easily." He had a psychotic episode and demanded: "You take two of my big sons at random, and I'm thankful that they're too good to eat." It's a favor! I chased five mountains and finally hit the first rock sheep, and I worked hard for a few days to leave the bones on the shelf. ”
It is said that once he really tied his two youngest sons with a symbolic brown rope, which was also strung together, and escorted them to the farm. The green thatched bamboo shed was actually burned by the two elder brothers, and the boy was aggrieved, and the father said confidently that the elder brother could help the family work, and it was only right for them to go to prison instead. The farm was always reluctant to take it in, which made the villagers very helpless. Occasionally, when he was free, he stood still on a certain mountain hairy dog road outside, paying attention to the movement inside the high wall for a long time. In fact, his eyesight is very good, as if there is a boy in it, who looks about the same age as the third child, but has the ability to get himself in. He felt pessimistic that his sons would be like him in the future, without any prospects. He felt that those young people in Longkou were really blessed, and it was easy to live in the courtyard. Zheng Lasheng likes to add fuel and vinegar to say this.
Cheng Ming was often so angry that he was sweating profusely and trembling all over, and he was about to confront Zheng Lasheng face to face. His words did not hurt the locals much, but they were insulting to their dignity. Cheng Ming is a person from the Mabu River Gorge, and he is also a hillbilly, so it's boring to step on it. The villagers have never seen the world, but they are definitely not stupid.
"You locals are better than ghosts." Zheng Lasheng said.
"Get out the hunting finger that kidnapped my son!"
"How do I know where his family lives?" Said the rumor-mongers.
"Beware of asking someone to clean up, I touched the melon in the middle of the night."
"You're cleaning me? If something happens, I'll look for you. ”
"Even if I don't dare, someone in the courtyard will do it."
"We know that the locals are savage, and they will release Gu."
"I've never seen the kind of person you say."
"Zheng Lasheng has encountered it, the first squadron."
"Farts all over the place! Warning you not to wash the countryside. ”
"It's sarcasm. Zheng Lasheng is also a farmer. ”
"What does it have to do with the countryman or not, see the problem."
Zheng Lasheng turned his head with great effort and raised his voice and said.
"According to you, Shi Wei, the leader of the group, is also a farmer."
At that time, Shi Wei was not dead, and he came forward to help.
"I inherit that some farmers are of poor quality." He said.
![Feng Jicai's short story: Beard[fig]](data:image/gif;base64,R0lGODlhAQABAIAAAP///wAAACwAAAAAAQABAAACAkQBADs=)