Chapter 13 end of the century dreamer

He is a fairy tale writer.Some people call him a writer. He was ashamed to accept such an honorific title, ashamed to admit that he was home.Although he does stay at home all day and night. When he was in elementary school, he came across a tattered book of fairy tales by the garbage dump at the back door of the school.He used the few seconds it took to take out the trash to finish reading the page facing up, and he has been poisoned ever since.He didn't think it was dirty or smelly, and he took the fairy tale book home.I watched it 10 times in a row like worshiping. Something called a dream took root and sprouted at that time.

After falling in love with fairy tales, he searched for clues of fairy tales on the paper products around him all day long.He read all the fairy tales he could find, and became a well-known dictionary of fairy tales inside and outside the school. Time also rushed away in his diligent reading.In a blink of an eye, he was already at the age to enter society. Only then did he truly understand the difference between fairy tales and reality.He has been obsessed with the world of fantasy for more than ten years, but within two days of entering the adult country, he encountered a bloody wound. He tried to pursue money and love, just like everyone around him.

He still loves the world of fairy tales.The more you resist, the more you love.There is his secret soil for escapism. He began to try to create.After the first work was released, he tasted it repeatedly, his confidence greatly increased, and he was determined to pursue fairy tales as his lifelong philosophy. I don't know why, after identifying the path to take, he became very aggressive.He devotes his limited energy every day to the creation of infinite fairy tales. He felt that he was born to write fairy tales.He can write many wonderful fairy tales.Everyone will love his fairy tales.

It's a pity that reality once again taught him that he is not a fairy taler, but a dreamer.No one likes fairy tales in this day and age. He sold the accumulated thick manuscripts everywhere, fought and failed, and his confidence was wiped out bit by bit along with his patience. In order to make a living, he sealed his desire to write fairy tales, and chose a job he didn't like as a way to support his family. In a blink of an eye, he was already forty years old, and the dream he had sprouted for so many years had grown into a big tree in his heart, but it could not bloom. He restrained himself, and he accepted the arrangement of fate.

However, the gears of fate began to turn out of the arrangement. War broke out. Those possibilities that have been prophesied and feared by many experts and scholars for a hundred years have become reality overnight. Endless military force and even more endless desire than military force can become the fuse of everything that starts a prairie fire, let alone peace. Peace has become a dove of peace, fleeing in panic when the flames of war come. The population problem, which the whole world is taking precautions against, has become like a joke in the context of a sharp drop of two-thirds.

What economic development and scientific and technological development, all stopped the pace of progress and can only retreat. The minimum living wish of the people is to be able to see the sun tomorrow. After seeing the sun the next day, this wish evolves into the hope that they can obtain the most basic food and clothing. So is he. The war cost him everything.Strange to say, he always felt that he was so poor that he had nothing, but when he really had nothing and received centralized relief with countless refugees, he realized that he still had a lot to lose, and now he really lost all of them.

Including, the fairy tales that he once pondered over and typed out word by word. He sometimes feels that the world is a fairy tale.More fairy tales than all fairy tales put together. He once thought that the little value he still had had become worthless in front of such a huge Cang Yi. He began to live every day more chaotic than before.It's just that he used to be alone in Chaos, but now he has all human beings accompanying him in Chaos. What a lively chaos. That day, as usual, he sat on the scorched field stalks and looked at the horizon, his eyes and expression synchronously dull.

A child ran past him, accidentally fell down, howling and crying. Children are the masters of the future, but it is a pity that when the future that belongs to them becomes fragmented, the masters can only show their hopeless side. He picked up the child and dusted him off.Then continue to sit down and continue to be in a daze.The children were interested, imitating his appearance and dazed together. I don't know how long it has been, the child said, it's so boring. He nodded slightly. The child said, is there anything interesting? He shook his head slowly. The child's mouth is flattened.He may have thought of something beautiful in the past, he said in a distorted childish voice that he wanted to read comics, watch TV, and read fairy tales.

When he heard the last two words, an unclear light appeared in his eyes.He tentatively asked the child, do you like fairy tales? The child nodded vigorously. He said excitedly, I have a few fairy tales here, can I tell you? Without waiting for the child's consent, he spoke on his own.He seems to have returned to the time when he worked hard to create many years ago, but this time there is no paper, pen or computer. He directly uses his cerebral cortex and mouth to create. Looking at the expression of the child in front of him, the more he listened, the more fascinated he became, and the more he listened, the more cheerful he became, he was so happy that he was about to shed tears.

When the gray sun was coughing and going downhill, he realized that his voice was hoarse.Boys also find themselves due to return to their parents. The boy was reluctant to leave.The boy told him that he would come again tomorrow, and you have to tell me about it tomorrow.When the boy said this, he showed an interest above anime and TV. He had insomnia that night.That was the happiest night he had suffered from insomnia and insomnia for so many years. Ahhh, some people like to listen to my fairy tales, and some people like to listen to my fairy tales... He repeated these few words over and over again in his mind with the effect of stereo looping the left and right channels of the high-pitched horn.

From then on, he looked forward to the boy's arrival every day.The boy also arrives on time every day and leaves late. Then the boy brought his friends.Friends bring friends of friends.Every child will come again when they come, and they don't want to leave after hearing it. He found himself finding the meaning of existence.Even if only one listener likes him, he is willing to keep talking dryly, not to mention there are so many listeners now. He often burst into tears while telling stories to everyone.It became his style when everyone got used to it. Gradually, there are no longer only children in the audience, but also adults.Those grown-ups with dusty faces and bruises sitting among the children awkwardly listened to him telling the fairy tales, smiled like children when they listened, and clapped with a crispness like children when they applauded. He started to become famous far and wide.Everyone knows this man with many stories in his belly, and everyone is proud to have heard his stories. They said that after hearing his story, they would feel cheerful, have warm memories, and have the power to endure. His fairy tales were told by one person to another, and the other to two others. More and more people told and listened to. How he wished he could go on talking like this until he died.For those fairy tales, it doesn’t matter if you can’t exchange money, and it doesn’t matter if you can’t exchange fame, as long as someone likes it, as long as someone is willing to listen to it.That is his dream, that is his eternity. One day, the country's top leader passed the ruins on a national tour of condolences and inspections.He was surprised to hear bursts of joyful laughter from the refugee camp. Those sallow and emaciated people, wearing ragged clothes and dragging their sick bodies, gathered in an uneven square, with excited expressions, as if they were participating in a festival. And in the middle sat him.With a child-like innocent look on his face, he danced and told everyone new stories. He was so happy, and the people around him were so happy. Who is that?The supreme leader asked a certain citizen curiously. He is the greatest fairy tale writer of this century. (Written on March 29 and 30, 2007)