Past recommendations: Poetry: Father's love is a bucket of buds
Time: As a pig killing knife should be taken like this
【Author Profile】Yang Shaoshuai, a native of Anyang, Henan, likes literature and likes to run.
【This article is published with the authorization of the author】
The weather was slightly cold, the dark clouds were hanging low, a willow leaf was dancing, and in a cold wind, a sigh was issued, and finally it fell to the ground, crushed by passers-by.
It was already the last leaf on this willow tree.
Nanyang Prison, on this day suddenly gathered free people, most of them are over a hundred years old, of course, there are some children, they look around in a daze, do not know what is going to happen.
The crow standing on only one willow tree, seemingly understanding what was going to happen here, flew to the roof of a cell, shouted in schadenfreude, and then seemed to have a good drama to watch.
There was now only one man in that cell, and he was Number Thirteen, and this was where the dead were held.
The guards knocked impatiently on the window of Cell Thirteen, and Number Thirteen looked up and saw through the guards' sunglasses a frustrated middle-aged man with a cracked beard and bloodshot eyes. Oh, my God! Is this still the self it once was? Once fascinated by thousands of young girls?
Think about who you once were? Luxury cars and famous wine, life erosion can not only be described by the four words of "paper drunk gold fan". And who are you now? Being put on the cold bracelet and ankle chain, walking out of the place that was once strange and familiar, and there was a little more disgust in the familiar, obviously the weather was clear and cloudless, but it made people feel chilling.
"Poisonous? Sure enough, it couldn't be stained! Thirteen laughed bitterly, a rich second generation of a family with superior ability, preferring to hunt for curiosity, loving ice chips, gradually destroying his father's family property, and going to the point of robbing and killing, and the final result was to accept his due trial.
"Thirteen walks through this playground, and it's time for you to go back to your house." The prison guard next to him said in a loud voice.
"Go home? Let's go back to my hometown! Number Thirteen smiled bitterly.
Four minutes before twelve o'clock, Thirteen suddenly felt some relief. The only people I am sorry for are my parents, and now that they are dead, I have no worries.
In three minutes and thirty seconds, Thirteen saw him, an armed policeman, a soldier who had executed himself. It is said that more criminals died at his hands than he had more bullets in his gun.
He looked at Number Thirteen as if he were looking at a corpse, or from the moment he walked in, he might have been dead in his eyes.
"Do you have anything else to say?" He looked at his watch, and there were two minutes and forty seconds left.
"I am a hateful person, because there must be something pitiful about the hateful person." After the thirteenth said it, he was covered with a black cloth, and the old man covered the eyes of the child in his arms with his hands, and he also twisted his head, and his mouth seemed to be silently chanting "Amitabha Buddha." ”
With a minute left, the surroundings were eerily quiet, and the crows were rarely silent. He pushed the bullet up the cavity, pulled the trigger, "bang", the fire dragon spit beads, a dazzling blood-colored ephemeral flash, thirteen responded to the sound of the fall to the ground.
"Card!" The director shouted contentedly, the armed police ran to the video studio to watch their performance, and Number Thirteen stood out of the pool of blood and saw the zero and zero thoughts shown on the camera.
Actually, he's an actor.
(Image from the Internet)
"Writers Club" WeChat stzx123456789
Submission Email: [email protected]
"Write Hu" WeChat: hongyupt
Submission Email: [email protected]
Consultants: Zhu Ying, Zou Kaiqi
Editors: Yao Xiaohong, Hong You, Zou Zhou