-HGWXX-77. -
Allow me to still call him that.
Once, he just lived like this. A mark and symbol.
all.
ALL OF HIS.
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-1990s, Germany. -
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HGWXX-77 As he walked out the door, the sudden cold wind blew a dull pain in his face .
Germany is cold in February.
He cocked the collar of his jacket, opened his eyes, and the morning light rushed in, in stark contrast to the gloom in the room before, his breathing stagnated, his chest heaving up and down, still unable to contain the excitement.
Such a huge contrast is like the moment when the Berlin Wall was torn down five years ago. He was facing the light when he came out of the basement amid the cheers. In the pleasure, even followed by waving his arms and shouting loudly. But he was only greedy for the stimulation that the contrast brought him. It didn't matter what the society or the system was.
He just needs this moment of rebellion.
HGWXX-77 pulled the somewhat tattered cart, handing out newspapers from the AC area. There were not many people on the street, the wide and long sidewalks were empty, only the cart wheels rumbled across the street, and the harsh sound scraped against the eardrums. He couldn't help but feel a bit of an illusion in his mind. In the cramped corridor, the left and right symmetrical interrogation rooms are lined up, and when I pass through there, only the sound of military boots pressing on the ground can be clearly heard.
He began to laugh at himself, whether the current self belongs to a kind of self-exile? HGWXX-77 has no regrets for the stupid things he has done. He does not need mercy and charity. This consequence is his own choice, and he does not regret it.
Many people think that HGWXX-77 is a taciturn person, he is ordinary, unremarkable, and even a little cowardly, but these all hide the fact that he is actually proud in his bones.
So he's doing his postman with peace of mind, and he doesn't need anyone to affirm what he's ever done.
At nine o'clock in the morning, HGWXX-77 finished his day's work and strolled home. The street started to get lively, when everyone opened the prelude to a new day, and he, will be out.
There is a state-run bookstore on the corner of Area C, which opens at 10:00. When HGWXX-77 passed by, two store clerks were fixing a huge poster on the glass window. He looked up naturally. , then froze.
At that time, it would probably be a very interesting scene. The two men in and out of the photo looked at each other quietly and stood there for a long time. HGWXX-77 suddenly realized that he had hardly seen him face-to-face, he was so familiar and yet so unfamiliar. Maybe before, he also lit a cigarette like this, stood at the window on the second floor, and had insight into the common people. He couldn't tell what HGWXX-77 seemed to have read in that lifeless photo. It was just that an impulse suddenly drove him to open the door of the bookstore, walked into it, dangled in front of the bookshelves in Qian Mo, and finally stopped in front of the book - "Song of a Good Man".
He stared at it for five minutes, then turned to the first page.
"I would like to dedicate this book to
HGWXX-77"
with two lines of bold characters branded on the entire title page, which pierced the shell of HGWXX-77 in a short and powerful manner.
He seemed to be holding this book for a lifetime, the scenery around him changed and changed, and his heart seemed to be vicissitudes again.
An indescribable regret concealed a thin layer of joy, and the words in front of him blurred in an instant, the air became sticky and thick, choked in his throat, and he couldn't breathe. It was a joy that was different from rebelliousness. He had been trying to find a balance among the contrasts, and that kind of stimulation would bring a little comfort and satisfaction to his pale soul.
Because he is empty of nothing.
'My sins can only be redeemed by myself. 'He used to think so.
HGWXX-77 put the book on the counter and paid for it.
The receptionist asked him, "Sir, do you need me to wrap it up for you?"
HGWXX-77 could barely hold back a smile.
"No, that's for myself,"
he said.
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