Dear Annabeth:
I hope this letter will be received.
I feel uncomfortable. This place is terrible. I was sent to die. How many days are left until I go to hell? I tell you, 18 years old. Had a terrible 18 days to live a complete damn life. In 18 days, I will exchange this hell for another.
Every day is a nightmare. Is this the meaning of my life? Am I born for this? I am now in the killing business. The only thing I look forward to is whether the cafeteria will provide chocolate cow nǎi, by the way, not today.
We carry out forced marches almost every day. We marched in alphabetical order. Can you believe that the war happened in 1-letter order
In these forced marches, I was behind a "t" and all. The task of the guy in the back is to collect the lagging behind. Some people can't even run. This is a joke, I should give them my life, but they can't even run a mile, when they really back off because they always do this, I have to keep some "a" or "b" Running.
A guy wanted to run away a few days ago. He ran away. I bet he doesn't even know where he is going, except knowing that wherever he is going, leaving is enough for him. Leaving is enough for me.
My father was right. I should join the Jǐng Guard on the coast and drive a small boat back and forth on the river. Compared with this, it sounds like heaven.
There are two boys in our row. I bet they are less than 5 feet. They don’t even speak English. They have never slept in one piece in their entire lives, all by themselves. One person went to bed secretly with another because he was afraid of the darkness. Until the platoon leader found out. Now they sleep alone in the army issued by the police. The army will give you a bed and chocolate cows that are entirely yours. If you are lucky, they will send you to hell to perform a task and kill another person before he kills you.
Annabeth, I can't take it anymore. There is nothing good here. I have no good side. I am hopeless. I knew it a long time ago. Long before you entered my life. When I am with you, these are not important anymore. I feel complete and complete. I feel what other people feel. normal. Now, I remember the true thoughts deep in my heart. nothing. Bottomless pit. Like my dad would say, Clark, you are wasting perfect skin.
do not wait for me. If I come back from here, I will be very surprised. This is how I ended up. Hope hurry up.
Sincerely
Clark Talbot III
"Hey! What are you doing?!?"
A small stone or an acorn or something hit my head. My eyes opened quickly.
"Hello? Are you asleep?" The voice screamed again.
"I'm sorry," I muttered, trying to clear my head. I stood up, there was a sudden burst of violence on my body. My head is throbbing, my hands are aching. I put a good hand on the big tree to balance myself, and then slowly walked towards the front door.
"I'm sorry," I said again.
"Are you an addict? My wife said you are an addict, I should report to Jǐng."
"sorry."
I had to walk very close to him to get out of the gate. I was afraid that he would catch me, and when he didn't catch me, I was relieved. But he still followed me a few steps.
"Hey?" He said while waiting for my answer.
"Yes?"
"Are you okay? You look terrible. Do you need me to call someone for you?"
"No, no."
"Well, whatever you want," he said as he walked towards the house, wrapping his baggy pants around the beer belly as he walked.
Another dream, another dream, another dream ー
I need to leave this town and leave Annabeth’s shadow, it won’t be fast. I reached into the pocket of my laundry pants and touched the note card the nurse gave me, which had the address of the person written on it. I feel sad, very sad. The next stop after going home and taking a shower.
At four o'clock exactly, Terry drove an old pickup truck to the parking lot. He got out of the truck and walked around to open the passenger door for me. He was wearing dark blue jeans with a new crease on the front of his trouser legs, and a long-sleeved button-down shirt tucked into his pants. His belt buckle is one of the country and western types, shining in the sun. I can smell his cologne. It smells of tobacco and pine. When I crawled in, he didn't say anything, just extended a helping hand. I was in the passenger seat, he was in the driver's seat, and we set off. He kept holding the steering wheel in both hands and drove two miles at a speed.
If I drove the car off the highway yesterday, we would pass by soon. Is it only yesterday? My stomach is fucked. Two parallel rubber ropes suddenly slipped off the side of the road. The only evidence that I almost died here last night.
"Is that so?" Terry asked.
"Yes."
"Unfortunately, child, give it time, all the body needs is time."
My eyes could not be removed from the brake marks. The brake marks burned on the sidewalk, up, up, and down, over a small cliff, and disappeared without a trace. I looked at them in the rearview mirror until we regained consciousness and passed them, although they were still burning in my memory and on the back of my eyelids.
We rode silently for a long time.
"What can take you to Portland?" I asked to break the silence with small talk.
"rì period."
"girlfriend?"
First date
"There is still a long way to go on a date," I said.
"I met on the Internet."
His eyes never left the road. Terry doesn't like small talk. I decided that a quiet environment should be comfortable, not embarrassing, so I put my head on the headrest and closed my eyes. I listened to the tires on the road for a long time, until Terry turned on the radio, a country and western radio station.
I am afraid of dozing off. In the past few days, almost every time I fell asleep, I encountered the consequences of disaster. In order to stay awake, I kept pinching my leg.
But I could have saved these troubles. With or without cramps, I fell asleep in the midst of patriotic ballads somewhere between here and Portland.
I walked into a bar. When I pushed open the heavy wooden door, the door creaked. Although it was noon, the window was darkened. Drunken atmosphere. This place is empty most of the time except for a few regular customers. It is five o'clock and everything is crowded with people.
Ben was sitting in the bar with a half-eaten burger in front of him, drinking a drink with ice.
"Abby," Ben said without turning around. "It's nice to see you here"
He drank from the glass for a long time with full concentration.
"Welcome, welcome. Please sit down, dear."
I sit on the stool next to him.
"You are drunk," I said.
""Yes, it's me. This is something I am very, very good at. Have a drink with me. Let us toast the good old days, Abigail. She wants to drink beer, bartender!"
There was no one behind the bar, but a bottle of beer miraculously appeared in front of me. There were water drops in the deep amber glass of the beer bottle. In this kind of place, unless you ask for it, you will not be given a cup, of course, this is an attitude of contempt.
I took a sip of wine.
"We spent a lot of good time here, Abby, Abby," Ben said.
"A long time ago. I'm surprised you still remember."
"Not long ago, Abby Abby looked grumpy, I never forgot you."
"When we were together, you hardly remember me," I said.
He said: "Let's not mention those bad things.".
"Then we really have nothing to talk about, because anyway, these are terrible things."
"Come on, let us have fun. I miss you," he said. He smiled sweetly and innocently, like a little boy out of trouble with sweet words.
"do not want."
"I still remember how you felt."
"Do both of us a favor and forget it. Forget about it all. I'm trying to forget. I stopped thinking of you a few years ago, no longer dreaming of you, no longer missing you."
"Obviously not," he said, "because I'm here." He finished his drink, raised a cup that pointed at him, and immediately drank a new drink. Ben watched me for a long time.
"You are different now," he said. "You are no longer the same you were before."
"I grew up."
"I don't know if I like it."
"It's not a question of whether you like it or not. It's about how I like it. When I'm with you, I feel embarrassed about my identity. I can no longer be as blind as that girl, so willing to accept, so willing to accept Everything you gave me."
"I'm not that bad. You make me feel bad."
"Don't be sad. Don't feel anything. It's over. It's all past."
"Let me apologize to you, I broke your heart and the crappy way of doing things," he said. Another cup was finished, and another fresh cup came.
"I don't need to apologize. When you are drunk, an apology doesn't count. I have heard enough of these words, and I will never hear them in my life." I finished my beer and stood up.
"Nice to meet you. I wish you a happy life. Really, I am serious. It's time for us to have a good life. A good life," I said.
He reached out and grabbed my hand and wouldn't let me go.
"You can no longer stop me or press me to the ground, Ben. Let me go," I said.
"No, Abby, you have to listen to me. There must be something wrong."
I looked at him. He seemed so sober and so real. The bar started to disappear around us, but he remained stable, as if made of meat, not just a part of a dream. The hairs on the back of my neck stand up.
"What, Ben? What is this?" I asked.
"Something is wrong."
"What's wrong? Tell me what's wrong?"
His hand gripped tighter and tighter. His hand entangled my injured hand in real life. Although in the dream, it looks like my usual veteran, but now it is in sex. He broke my hand in a dream, and slowly and painfully broke it with his inhumane and powerful hand.
"Stop! You hurt me!"
"Something is wrong. I didn't mean to hurt you. Trust me. I never thought about hurting you."
He grabbed the back of my head with his other hand and bumped my face against the top of the bar. My nose exploded.
"Let it stop!" He screamed at me. (To be continued) (End of this chapter)