Memory, what is memory?

The first time I opened my eyes, the first time I went out, the first time I saw a strange place, the first time I heard my name—

Thirty-three.

In my memory, that's my name.

In terms of one day, yesterday is the memory of today; Calculated by one second, the previous second is the memory of this second; Counted as a moment, the previous moment becomes the memory of the next moment.

Therefore, people live in memory, memory is the evidence of life, and life without memory is equivalent to death.

When I think about it this way, I can probably be considered a person who manipulates life and death.

Is such a person considered a human being?

Or rather, am I still human?

My name is Thirty-Three, and even though I know it's not my real name, because no one would call me by such a strange name, it doesn't matter anymore, I have a more important identity than this - "Memory Writer".

As the name suggests, I can tamper with memories.

"Hey, what are you writing about?" Thirty-four sat lazily on the ground, fiddling with the grass beside his legs as he spoke.

The setting sun turned the whole world golden yellow, and I was a little stunned when I looked at the sparkling river under the grassy slope.

"Hey! Thirty-three! Thirty-four simply snatched the notebook and flipped it upside down.

"Tsk, you're writing a story again?" Thirty-four threw the notebook back to me disdainfully, and simply lay on the lawn with his elbows on his pillow: "Every time I tear it off with just the beginning, this time it seems to be no exception." ”

Thirty-four's assessment, while vicious, is indeed the truth.

I looked at the crooked handwriting that had just been written in my notebook, and without much thought, I habitually tore it off and crumpled it into a ball and threw it into the river.

At the end of the day, I don't know what I'm writing this for, as if I'm just writing something.

Thirty-four is my only friend. Like me, he is also a "memory writer".

There are so few memories of the past that I have been left with, as it was written at the beginning of a novel that has been torn up countless times, when I woke up in a strange and gloomy place, and a cold-faced man told me in the same cold tone: "From this day forward, your name is thirty-three." ”

This was the beginning of my memory, and probably the beginning of thirty-four.

"Thirty-four," I looked at the slowly ending sunset, and couldn't help but ask the question I've asked countless times: "Don't you want to get back the memories of the past?" ”

"Too lazy to look for it." Thirty-four, as always, answered.

The gentle river breeze stirred the thirty-four capable hair, lined with the afterglow of the setting sun, and it looked like it had some strange poetry.

"That's fine now." Thirty-four said, turning his head to me and smiling brightly.

Noncommittal answer.

"Hee-hee-hee-hee." A familiar and disgusting voice came from behind.

Thirty-four didn't bother to turn around, and spit out the dogtail grass that had just been put in his mouth in disgust.

Half of a strange body dripping with black mud emerged from the ground. The weird little face is accompanied by the same weird voice.

This guy's name is ?, and it's my connector with Thirty-Four.

Strictly speaking, such a monster is not human at all.

"Mission well accomplished." The Black Clay Man nodded approvingly. Pulled out a bag of money from his disgusting body and threw it on the ground.

No one answered.

Half a month ago, a respectable official walked into the police station and admitted that he had killed his wife and daughter with his own hands, and now he is estimated to have been taken to a psychiatric hospital.

Don't get me wrong, Thirty-Four and I don't like killing, and we're only responsible for rewriting this official's memory. As for who brutally slaughtered his wife and children, it is not for me and Thirty-Four to be concerned.

I remember that it was a bright night, and the house was already covered with a strong fishy smell. The woman and the child were mutilated and broken in pools of blood. The official sat slumped on the ground, and there was no emotion in his dull eyes.

The task is very simple, to make this hapless good official think that he killed his wife and daughter, but only me and Thirty-Four can achieve all this.

It's not complicated to revise your memory, it's like opening a long picture, erasing part of it, and then drawing something new as you wish.

Speaking of which, memories are not stored in the so-called brain, but are engraved in the soul, so what we modify is actually the soul.

"I'll get back to you if I need to." After the black clay man finished speaking, it slowly melted into a real black mud and seeped into the dirt again.

The river slapped against the mud and sand on the bank, blablah, blah, blah······

"Thirty-four," I propped my head thoughtfully, "or you can learn to draw." ”

"Why?" Thirty-four squinted.

"Because I like to write." I replied.

"So I have to paint? But—" Thirty-four thought for a moment and opened one eye, "Sounds pretty good." ”

I got up and smiled, "Let's go." ”

"Where?" Thirty-four followed.

"I'll move and find you a studio by the way." I replied, leaving thirty-four with a lazy back.

In fact, I don't think I'm optimistic about Thirty-four's painting skills, and I don't expect Thirty-Four to really learn, but I instinctively want to spend the money given by the black clay figure.

The faster it spends, the better.

Thanks to the money, the new residence was quickly determined, an old factory. Yes, I bought a whole factory.

"Hey, Thirty-Three," while wandering around the factory, Thirty-Four couldn't help but turn around and ask, "This is too exaggerated, isn't it, such a big place, and still so broken, how can you live?" ”

"I heard that learning art requires a unique taste." I casually explained.

Thirty-four thought about my words seriously, and he was clueless, but he actually agreed.

Simple arrangement, in addition to the necessities of daily life, I deliberately set up a drawing board in the middle of the factory. When he was bored, Thirty-Four would sit next to the drawing board and scribble on the paper like a child, until his hands and face were covered with colorful paint.

I worked hard like this for half a month, but finally there was no progress at all.

"Why is it so hard to draw a picture!" Thirty-four lay on the ground like a wronged child.

"It's hard to write a novel, too." As I spoke, I crumpled the beginning, which I had written countless times, into a ball of paper.

Faintly, there was a commotion outside the factory.

Like two women arguing about something.

"Hey! You stop! ”

The woman who shouted was wearing a white shirt and hot pants, and her cheeks bulged like a cute big goldfish.

"Hey, you're really annoying!" The response was a white-haired woman, with a white coat draped over her body, but she couldn't hide the woman's graceful and sexy figure.

"You are less proud, I, Lu Lan, will definitely surpass you one day!" The woman in the white shirt stuck her waist and smiled defiantly.

"Hmph, I'll talk about it when you're too good." The white-haired woman waved her hand and walked towards the factory.

The woman in the white shirt stomped her feet in anger.

"Hey! Damask silk! Wait for me! ”