"Every story has a fat man." There is no fat man in my 12-year-old story. Some of them walked along the highway without eating for a day to the next town, watched a circle, and came back. I went to one of my classmates’ homes to play and crawl. A poisonous snake killed the child in the dense jungle. When the sun was about to go down, they ran home like flying along the road. They ran under the bridge near the school to take a peek at the abandoned girl in a cardboard box, and ran to see lying on the road. The dead man who had been in the past few days is said to have quarreled. The husband killed his wife with scissors by the wrong hand. He stood on tiptoe in the crowd but did not dare to go forward. He saw that his upper body had been torn and his stomach was distended. I’m too old, I don’t dare to look closely...
Around the age of 12, it’s really a watershed for many things before and after going to middle school. The first branch of school, some people can no longer be seen, everyone also has a new environment, new classmates and new friends. To adapt, even in the next class or even in the same class, I don’t frequent each other very often. Some meet by chance after a while, and I don’t seem to know what to say. Although they are still innocent, they are no longer innocent as before.
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