People sometimes get entangled in one thing, repeatedly seek the answer, and have fallen into the devil. So much so that the final answer was no longer acceptable to him, and what he desperately sought was a kind of liberation, or something else?

Distant high in the sky, white clouds, rain clouds, snow clouds, no matter how they change, is there really not a castle behind them? What would the angels' houses look like? Mike preferred the way bright white clouds moved slowly rather than a clear blue sky. He asked many people, father, mother, teacher, sister, brother, relatives, uncles, etc., and even neighbors, but he could not answer.

Questions have always bothered Mike, and the blame from his family and the strange looks of others have cast a shadow on his heart, making Mike feel that he is getting farther and farther away from the answer. The pain is coming day by day.

The clouds in the sky, like Miyazaki's castle in the sky, behind the clouds are hidden a wonderful castle, and when the sun sets, looking up, it looks like Picasso's blue period, and the rich blue is precipitated with orange and red oil painting tones, delicate and charming, and intoxicatingly, they remind him of the cycle of human life.

Ridiculous words, but brilliant in Mike's eyes. Colorful fireworks bloomed on the off-white color.

The human body has multiplied from generation to generation, and the soul is whether it floats into the castle behind the sky, or falls into the fire of the setting sun and is burned to the ground. The latter, by contrast, is more convincing. After all, the body of a person after death is not mixed with dirt, but thrown into an incinerator. But for a moment, he thought of Picasso, and felt that it was more realistic for the soul to fly into the air and then be dropped into a womb. No matter where so many souls are made.

Sitting at the table, the sky outside the lattice window is thin with clouds. Mike struggled to figure out what he had done in his past life, what he would do in the next, and what would he remember?

All day, he had a head full of strange things. Soon, others said he was crazy. His family thought he was suffering from a nervous disorder.

Mike was silent all day. But when I got closer, I could hear him whispering: You should take a dog chain, tie it around your neck, and finally, throw the fuck in jail!

After that, no one dared to go to his house, even the doctor was afraid. Rumor has it that Mike is possessed by a demon.

One day, many years later, the morning sun rises faintly.

Mike deftly loosened the rope that bound him, lifted his burly body, and strode towards the bathroom. The sound of heavy footsteps woke the family, who came out to look.

Mike was looking at the mirror above the bathtub and carefully shaving his full beard, a beard that had been soaked in saliva and snot for many years. In the mirror, he is naked, and his muscles are covered with scars, red, purple, cyan, and gray, like a body painting. The face was cut several times by a razor, but even so, it did not affect the handsome and chic face.

The family remained motionless, staring at him. Shaving, cutting hair, bathing.

After he freshened up, he put on his father's leather suit and applied a shiny gel cream. I saw him walking out, smiling brightly in front of everyone.

Someone asked him: What's wrong with you?

He replied: "Last night, an angel came to my bed and thrust a soul into my body.

finish