Dead children
Fucking kid.
It may be a story you cannot understand, but it almost carries my whole youth.
It may be a story you cannot understand, but it almost carries my whole youth.
You can’t create a stranger in a dream, and all those who appear in your dream are the ones you’ve seen in real life, even though you’ve only seen one look.
This is an inexplicable science.
For example, yesterday I dreamt of a strange little girl, about two years old, with short hairs that were so dazzling and squirted faces. She was sitting in a corner on her knees, crying “whoaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa The more I talked to her, the more sharp her cry was, the more irritating it was in the morning.
I don’t know and have never seen that noised dead kid.
But those who say “false science” say, “No.” You must have seen it, but you forgot. I’m sorry.
“I’ve seen but I’ve forgotten” and “I’ve never seen” are the same, and it’s hard to argue with the facts.
This is a deep debate between me and Erjii during the main class.
After school, as usual, there were smokes everywhere on the floor, garbage cans surrounded by fast food boxes leaking from the side of the soup, and two cockroaches crawling on the edges to have a pleasant conversation with tea in the afternoon.
“Dad, I’m back! I’m sorry.
My voice is drowning in the loud playing of cards, and my father’s cigarettes are burning to his lips, and the ashes that will pop in the future are hanging on his butt.
I squeezed back into my bedroom from the gap between the two cards, and I was not frustrated or angry by the big people’s disregard for me, and I was not the boring young man who had been squirted to find a sense of existence.
Single-parent families, fathers were gamblers, lacked motherhood, lacked family warmth — Mizugi envied me, saying that young people living in a family environment like mine would understand society and public opinion even if they did bad things.
“It’s a shame to stay the same. “Don’t worry, there’ll be people who know, or sociologists, or some other mess, who will come out and analyze your growth and your family, and then excuse you.” There may be some kind of growth fund or care program or something you can’t even imagine. They like to save others. That’s how society is! “But my parents are professors and they love me so much that I don’t have a reason to want to do bad things!” If I did something bad, not only did I not have the chance to be saved, but I would drag my parents into the water. I’m sorry.
“Maybe when you get worse, you’ll find that your life will be better, at least not like this!” @Ambassassah: #Jan25 #Jan25
But why should I be bad? And my dad didn’t love me. He just opened a chess shop at home because he was poor and ignorant and did nothing. And the big people who come to play cards every day pay my dad a “field fee” on an hour’s basis, so I don’t look too bitter among my classmates. Why should I blame them for getting bad?
In fact, the only bad thing in my life so far is the high-strength attitude of Miki, who always says theories that seem to make sense but that are hard to prove, as if his parents were professors and his words were all true.
“No stranger in the dream” or “familiar youth atonement” will one day prove that Erjii is just a man for his sake.
So last night I picked up the body of a dead cat from a garbage dump along the street and stored it in a freezer in the fridge.
I pretended that I killed the cat, that I was going to take a picture of a frozen cat on the Internet, and see if those who love cats can justify my cat abuse because of my lack of upbringing. I think that for those who call cats “Meows”, my sins must be unforgivable and unforeseeable.
As a result, the “bad boy’s salvation” of 2 Gs could not be established.
Of course, it doesn’t matter if they don’t forgive me. It’s just a dead cat. What can I do?
I pulled out my cell phone and squeezed back and forth from the two card tables to the kitchen.
The fridge in the kitchen is the traditional single-door stand-off, with a cold room, full of beer and drinks, and a cold room, because my family never cooks, does not store food, so the freeze room is empty, no one opens the lower floor of the fridge, and no one is surprised by the dead cat.
I’m going to open the camera on the phone and open the door in the freezer room.
In a moment, the air-cooled into the pores, the sweats were high, and I was scared and screaming.
Maybe I just yelled in my heart and didn’t really make a sound, and maybe my scream was drowned in the “blah, blah, blah, blah, blah, blah, blah, blah, blah, blah, blah, blah, blah, blah, blah, blah, blah, blah, blah, blah, blah, blah.
I remember there were three drawers in the freezer’s room, and I hid the dead cat at the bottom.
But now, the three drawers are gone, the dead cat is gone, there is only one little girl in the freezer with her knees shrunk, over two years old, with short hairs in her hair, and a few iceballs on her tumbled face, as if she had been freezing to death in tears, and her tears were frozen in her face, which seemed cruelly beautiful.
She’s like the girl crying in my dream.
You can’t create a stranger in a dream. I remember the words.
No, I think because the dream is vague, so I see a girl’s face, and it’s natural for her five officials to be on the dreamer’s face.
Anyway, it’s impossible for a cat body to eat the three drawers and freeze to death in the fridge.
Is it because I was so confused that I picked up a dead child as a dead cat?
I remember every detail last night.
Stinky dumpsters, jumping rats, dead cats with their heads covered in old paper piles…
The difference between a dead cat and a dead child is still very large, at least not in the same size. A dead cat can fit directly into a freezer drawer, but a dead child has to remove all three drawers in order to get into the freezer.
So, when I came back yesterday, did I open the drawer?
I remember that the freezer had been used for too long, that the door had been frozen to death, that it had taken me a lot of effort to open the door and then cleaned up the frozen drawer, and then…
And? Did I put the cleaned drawer in again? If they do, why are they gone?
If not, where are they now?
Was it a dead kid or a dead cat I picked up yesterday?
Or did someone change the cat for the prince? It’s not impossible. In order to facilitate the entry and exit of gamblers, our security doors are never locked, even if anyone sneaks in and stuffs a dead child in the fridge.
I closed the refrigerator door, squeezed back to my bedroom side by side, then put my ears around the door and listened carefully to the noise outside the door. I want someone to find dead kids in the freezer and then deal with them, and that’s what big people worry about, not me.
If I had forced the grown-ups to tell them there was a dead child in the fridge, it would have been deliberate, and the grown-ups might have asked me, “How could there be a body in the fridge?” I’m sorry.
Or, “Why do you think you’re gonna open the freezer door? There’s nothing here. I’m sorry.
So it’s like I’m a killer. I don’t want to get involved in a homicide.
Everything is normal outside the bedroom door, adults rubbing on mahjong, shuffled cards, yelled at husks or cursed for losing money. During that period, it appeared that someone had risen to the fridge to get a beer or a drink, and that the sound of the “single” when the refrigerator door was switched was very visible.
But it is almost a luxury to expect adults to open the door to the freezer, which has not been opened for over a year before I collect the body of the cat.
So I have to do something else.
“Dad, would you like some ice cream? I said:
“What’s wrong with winter? “Daddy put a card on the table. I’m sorry.
“Daddy, do you think there’s a lot of noise in the fridge?” I said.
♪ Da-la-la-la-la-la-la, da-da-da-da-da-da-da ♪ Right. What noise in a noisy house like this can overwhelm the shuffle?
When I went to bed at night, I snuck out the refrigerator’s power so they could play mahjong all night and they thought the fridge was broken, then they checked it and found the dead kid, and then…
But when I woke up in the morning, I found that grown-ups were smarter than I thought, because the power didn’t know when to be plugged in.
That’s how the dead kid stayed in my fridge for a week, and the grown-ups didn’t notice it. They were so busy counting cards, they focused on winning and losing, they didn’t care about everything around them.
During this week, I kept an eye on the neighbors’ aunts whether they were talking about missing children, or whether there was a new search on the utility pole, or television, the Internet, and anything I could get into the media, and whether there were any news of missing children.
I want to find some clues from her identity, and then I want to guess who did it. Who’s gonna plant it on my house?
But there was no information about her in this world, and for a moment I even suspected that the dead child had actually come out of my dream and that she was not in the real world.
What if I really picked her up from the garbage? If that’s the case, I’ll have my fingerprints or my fabric on her body. What if I’m suspected of murder? Even if the “bad boy’s salvation” works, but killing isn’t a cat abuse, I’ll end up in trouble for no reason.
However, it is difficult for a high school student like me to dispose of a body, even a child, without trace. The clever ways in which the novels are destroyed are too preposterous, and writers deliberately blind the police or the good neighbors in order to advance the cause.
Of course, I could keep that dead kid in my fridge, and maybe no one would notice until it really broke. But one day she’ll be found and will end up with me or my dad, tearing us into an endless abyss…
No one must have come to my house to play mahjong, and my dad and I were ruined.
So I decided to find someone to help me get rid of her.
Ma’s a good guy.
He’s good at cards and he’s the best at winning and winning. Most importantly, he’s been in jail and has a history. You see, when there’s a rule of law show, you start with someone with a record, so if the horse finds a dead kid in the trunk of his car, he won’t call the police.
Yeah, well, that old Ma’s in the back of a broken Santana is enough for a dead kid.
At this point, the old horse who was playing all night long lay asleep on the couch, and Dad went downstairs to buy the early ones, while the others either looked at the cards in their hands with bloody eyes or focused on calculating how to make them worse.
Last night, I snuck out of the fridge, and there was a big dark yellow stench of liquid under the fridge. The dead kid, who was cold, was still very hard, but not as strong as last night. On the inside wall of the fridge, a little hot water, without too much effort, I pulled her out of the fridge and put her in a black garbage bag prepared in advance, with many layers of coats inside and out.
“What are you doing? It stinks! There are gamblers outside the kitchen complaining.
“Blessed! I said, “Please don’t pour tea into the kitchen sewers. It’s blocked! I’m sorry.
“Hu, don’t let Shun Chi do such a thing. Go straight to the house. “A gambler was very loyal to my father who just came in.”
Dad’s surprised that I’m so fast, but he’s too lazy to think that his brain cells are for money to waste on such boring things.
“Eat breakfast!” he said outside.
I put the garbage bag behind the kitchen door, pretended to wake up the old horse and told him to eat breakfast, stole the keys to the car he was hanging in the waist, then turned back to the kitchen and took the garbage bag and ran down the stairs.
I should be more calm, but I can’t control my own panic, and the faster my legs and legs go, so the grown-ups don’t care what the hell I’m doing, they’re already full of $2.58 million, and they can’t stuff anything else.
The old horse’s car knows it well, the dirtiest one.
The cameras in the underground parking lot in the sub-districts had been damaged long ago and had not been repaired. As a result, owners refused to pay for their property, and property companies became more unmanageable because owners did not pay for their property, so that the vicious circle had reached the point where today’s collapse had been such as to make it easier for me to successfully plant the body.
I opened the trunk of that car and found that there was a big empty suitcase, size enough to fit the dead kid. I can’t help but wonder at that moment if this empty box was supposed to be used to kill a child, maybe the guy who put her in my fridge was a horse.
All right, I’ll dump the dead kid from the garbage bag in the trunk. If he did, if he found out she was back in the trunk somehow, he’d be scared to death.
I threw the garbage bag in the trash can downstairs, blew a whistle and then stuffed the car keys into the suture of the couch mattress, if nothing happened.
For the next few days, I’ve been looking forward to the old horse.
I admired the old horse. He was a man who had done a terrible thing and had gone to the polls, and he was in a state of shock and water. Although he did not know how much thought and energy he had devoted to destroying the body, he came to my house as usual to play cards, and he was calm, as if nothing had happened.
It was not for me to expect that he would show a little panic, nor would he affect his life patterns by dying children, so that it would not give rise to suspicion.
But he was so perfect that I suspected he never found the body in the trunk.
It is not impossible for a middle-aged bachelor like him, who never washes a car, even if the smell in the trunk gets into the car, he probably just opens his window and breathes.
I thought of it, suddenly I felt a little sympathy for the dead kid, dying silently, being frozen in the fridge for no reason, and being stuck in the trunk for no reason, rotting alone and stinking. No one cares who she is, or what she’s called, why she died, why no one is looking for her… so pathetic.
I wanted to make sure she wasn’t “into the land” and then stole the horse’s car keys again.
But I just walked to the door and I was about to change my shoes and I heard the horse say, “Fuck! Who’s not clean?”
I was surprised to bend over and pretend to tie my shoelaces, to put the car key under my feet and, if nothing happened, to stomp to the sofa, and to sneak it under the sofa.
“How can you touch yourself when you’ve already hit three six pieces and you’ve fished six? Who changed the fucking cards? I’m sorry.
I thought he found the car keys.
“Shit! The old horse hates hate, “It’s been bad luck since the trunk was ripped off the other day!” I thought it was the thief who stole the cash box I used to wager. I’m sorry.
What?
“What’s the cash box?” I asked.
“It’s an empty suitcase I brought from Mr. Fung Shui. The master says it’ll always be good to gamble in the trunk. Shit, I’m so broke! I’m sorry.
That means the thief stole the suitcase with the dead child! That’s why the horse was so grumpy, he didn’t even know he was stuck in his suitcase!
If it was a thief, wouldn’t it be possible to call the police? Now they’re stealing the treasure!
I just don’t know if that thief was scared shitless of a dead kid and what would he do to her body?
I can’t help but think of it here, and it’s so pathetic to be kicked and kicked like a ball, and nobody cares about nobody, just like me.
Back on weekends and after playing ball, a garbage truck was parked at a dump near the district, and several workers threw a pile of garbage for more than a month with a mask on it, while the stench of rotting stench took over the street.
“Huh? This is the plastic drawer in the fridge, right? A worker complained, “Strangling! I’m sorry.
I was recently very sensitive to the words “refrigerator, dead child, dead cat” and then snuggled over the trash with my nose and finally I couldn’t help but get close.
The closer you get to the dump, the more you feel the air is thicker, and the smell is like particles, attached to the mouth or the airpipe along the respiratory tract. And what really suffocated me was the rotten dead cat, sticky on the bottom of the drawer, crawling with fat maggots. I don’t really remember what the dead cat looked like, because the skin of the dead cat doesn’t see the color or the color, and I don’t remember exactly what the dead cat was, but the drawer and my fridge look so good, even the scratches on the handle.
When two scavengers threw dead cats on a dumpster, stomped on the dirt hanging on the bottom and put that drawer on their broken-down three-wheeler, I noticed that there were two of the same types on that car.
Yeah, those three drawers and the dead cat used to belong to our fridge.
In other words, I didn’t pick up the dead kid, but someone put her in my fridge!
Who could it be? Horses or some other gambler?
Even though the dead kid is gone, the guy who tried to frame me or my dad may still be in my house. There’s only one truth.
As usual, there is second-hand smoke in the air, and the grown-ups sit at cards and table like dice, as if the only purpose of their lives was to roll around in the cities.
I opened the freezer in the fridge and I wanted to see if I could find something of value.
Who knows?
Who knows why that dead kid’s back!
I slammed the fridge door and then opened it again, and she was there, not hallucinating.
The position of the dead child was slightly different from that of before, and several skins were decomposed and half of the frozen maggots were detected in the nostrils. In other words, she wandered around and returned to my house with abundant water and full of maggots.
Perhaps the old horse called himself “the trunk stolen” simply for the sake of confusion. He found the dead kid in the trunk and then he was lazy and stuffed her back in the fridge.
Perhaps the thief who broke into the old horse’s trunk found the dead child in the trunk of the suitcase, and at one point of the burglary, he threw his suitcase into the house of another, and the family he stole was one of the gamblers who often came to my house. The gambler threw the body in my fridge. My family’s got a lot of work to do, and I don’t know who did it.
I looked at the dead kid in the fridge and didn’t know what to do.
Then Dad went to the kitchen and took a bottle of soda from the freezer’s room and looked at me and said, “It’s hard to get electricity if you keep the freezer door open like this.” I’m sorry.
At that moment, I wanted him to bend over a little bit and look inside the freezer, so he would find the dead kid in it.
But that’s how Dad pretended to care, so he came out of the kitchen with a soda and kept fighting on the table.
I suddenly feel sorry for myself, and all of the ideas of “thank you” and “take you” before are nothing but lies, and no one really cares what I’ve done to protect this family.
Maybe one day, I’ll die like this dead kid in a strange corner and be kicked and kicked like a puck by people who fear responsibility.
I touched the dead kid’s face, and it was cold.
Well, I decided to call the police, at least I should know her name, why she died, why she loved living in the fridge. But I couldn’t call the police to the house to ruin Dad’s livelihood, and I decided to take the dead kid to the police station.
I took out the scepter and the knife and I pulled the dead kid out of the fridge. I made a lot of noise in the kitchen because I didn’t unfreeze earlier.
“What are you doing? Are you worried? I’m sorry.
They’re just yelling. Nobody bothers to go to the kitchen to see what I’m doing. When I totally pulled the dead kid out, put it in a box, sealed the tape, the grown-ups automatically blocked all the voices outside the game.
Sad me!
Sad little boy!
I walked down the street with a box.
Although it was winter, the sun was good, and the dead children began to melt slowly, and the colorless liquid came out of the cracks in the boxes, dripping on the ground and spreading the smell of the bad smell.
The people around are simply trying to hide their noses from their instincts, and no one is interested in knowing what shit is in the box.
I suddenly felt lonely as if all the world was dead, only I was alive, or all the world was alive and only I was dead. On this bright winter day, I and a strange, dead child are cuddled in a cardboard box, moving towards a fateful future.
An imaginary dialogue began in my mind, with the police, asking questions and being asked.
And?
Maybe I’ll be skeptical, my dad skeptical, horse suspicious, and all kinds of mess.
Then it might be possible to catch the real killer, to arrest anyone, to close the case, or to be a pending case.
In the end, dead children may be dissected, may lie alone in a larger refrigerator, may be sent to a more inexplicable place, where no name or name will disappear.
Poor fucking kid!
I stood by the side of the road with the box.
It may be the same fate, or the opposite, or my head is completely broken, and I have given her a strange affection from the bottom of my heart, and I cannot leave her like this.
Eventually, I took a deep breath and put the dead kid back in the fridge.
It was like I had an idiot on the bottom of my class. I don’t have to worry. It seems that my life is no longer indifferent and ordinary, because of the existence of dead children, I have a new connection to this family:
No adult found a dead kid in the freezer today?
Is there a thicker layer of ice cream on a dead kid?
And so, a strange attachment began to emerge between me and the dead child, and every day before going out, after school, before going to bed, I had to pull the fridge to make sure that she was still there.
Dead kids give new meaning to this puffy home — weird, uneasy, exciting, a little warm, hard to say.
I don’t think I’ve become a bad kid, or a bad guy, because of the dead kid.
For many years after that, dead kids lived in my fridge.
The gamblers in the family, in exchange for a ton of money, would spend their entire lives in the town, where no one had ever seen a dead child.
There was a man who accidentally opened the freezer once, but at that time, she was covered in thick ice crumbs and it was hard to find a dead child without looking at it.
Then, about the year I graduated from high school, my dad died of cancer, I closed his chess shop, opened a shop with his savings, and the dead kids stayed with me loyally, except that I had bought her a nicer little freezer.
She’s been with me like a family or a teddy bear in the little girl’s arms.
Many years later, I became the weirdo of a shop, alone but not alone.
He graduated from secondary school and lived a decent life like his parents.
One year at a school reunion, he pulled me out to drink and he kept saying, “It’s a shame you’re not bad, too bad! If you were bad, you wouldn’t live like this! I’m sorry.
“The dead kid,” with a drunk eye and a clear mouth, “The little girl you saw, begging on the bridge near the school, is frozen to death. I put her in your fridge, huh you pervert, don’t think I didn’t know you hid a dead cat in the fridge.”
That’s what he said. I thought I’d seen a dead kid. On a daily basis, she was shaking a broken teat and falling between the legs of people’s pants.
You can’t create a stranger in a dream — maybe that’s why I dreamed of her.
But it doesn’t matter anymore.
“I didn’t know what to smoke, I did it when my head was hot…” He went on and said, “I regret it and sneaked into your house to take the dead kid away, but she’s gone.”
“And then?”
“And then one day, my family got robbed, lost some shit, and there was a big box with the dead kid in it! My mom and dad were out there, and I was alone, and I thought she was coming to me, and I was scared, and I didn’t know what to do, and I thought I’d go and send her back to your fridge… You’re pathetic. The grown-ups in your family don’t care about anything but the game.
It’s a shame you didn’t get bad.
“Why did you do that to me? I am angry to say,
“I’m your friend! I wanted to save you!” And I laughed, “You think, if the dead kid was found, the police would intervene, and I would write an anonymous letter saying that you picked up the dead kid because you were lonely. You didn’t kill that dead kid anyway. You won’t be convicted. And you’ll be news, you’ll get social attention, you’ll be redeemed by countless sociologists or lovers, you’ll be saved by your father, you’ll be saved by your family… and you’ll go from there to a brighter life! And I would feel like I’ve done something very, very great! I helped my best man!”
I was silent and thought my life had become a farce.
“What about the dead kid?” What happened?”
“Always in my fridge. “I will not say anything.
Two gills swooped, wrinkled their heads, and they were drunk on the table.
Soon after that school reunion, he left the country.
He said goodbye to me on the phone, and none of us said anything about dead children, as if nothing had happened.
And the dead kid still lives in my fridge, and she’s completely covered in ice, like a giant, irregular hockey ball, freezing my inexplicable youth.
[END]
I don’t know.
Keep your eyes on the road.
