People, why kill people?

The first is to protect one's own life; second, to seize other people's property; the third, the elimination of competitors in order to possess the opposite sex; Fourth, revenge on others for various reasons; fifth, in order to carry out the orders of the above; Sixth, killing for commissions; Seventh, killing without reason.

What is my reasoning?

This is a topic that the Dead Poets Society has discussed, and I would like to engrave these on my epitaph.

On Monday, June 19, 1995, in the morning, I was still alive.

The sun shone on the head of the bed, and I opened my eyes in a trance, and it was time for the third class, right? It was the first time I had slept in school, and as a teacher who had been dismissed from public office, I had been disqualified from attending classes.

I stepped on a stool and felt for the ceiling, and through a gap in the mezzanine, I pulled out the saber - fortunately it wasn't found by the police. The blade is engraved with the words "305 Factory" and has a spear-shaped tip with a blood groove. This was given to me by Lu Zhongyue two years ago, he is my best friend, a classmate in high school, and a roommate in this dormitory. His father worked in the district government, and he often got his hands on strange things, such as special cigarettes and alcohol, military hook boots, smuggled watches, and the like.

The sharp blade glowed coldly, like a shaped mirror, distorting my face, too ugly to recognize myself.

I tied this knife to the hem of my trousers.

There was no breakfast in the cafeteria, so I walked around the school, passing by the door of the classroom of the third (2) class of high school, and the math teacher on the podium inadvertently saw me outside the window and nodded slightly. Some of the students noticed this little action and turned their heads to look at me. No one was at ease to review anymore, and everyone turned their heads and ears, as if they had seen a walking corpse.

Nanming High School has two teachers who graduated from famous schools, one is me from Peking University, and the other is *Song from Tsinghua University. He was seven years older than me, and when I was still in high school at my alma mater, he was my math teacher. The students he led had particularly excellent grades, and mathematics was the most able to score in the college entrance examination.

I stood outside the classroom with my back straight, staring coldly at the students, who two weeks ago were their homeroom teacher and the instructor of the Nanming Literature Club. The window pane reflected a haggard face, like the man he had seen in a nightmare. I stared at my favorite boy, Ma Li, who was avoiding my gaze, and his expression could not hide his sadness. Although, after the college entrance examination next month, they will go their separate ways, but saying goodbye in advance in this way is always inevitable that the eyes will be hot.

Standing at the door of the classroom, in front of all my students, I cried bitterly until *Song came out with an ugly face and said, "I'm sorry, Mr. Shen, you have affected my students' classes." ”

"I'm sorry, goodbye."

When I went downstairs, I was heavy, with the beaded chain in my trouser pockets and a saber with a blood groove strapped to the trouser legs.

June 19, 1995, the last Monday and last night of my life.

Taking off the watch given by Gu Qiusha's father, I had my last dinner in the cafeteria. The masters also looked at me like a murderer, and none of my classmates and teachers dared to sit next to me, at least ten meters away. However, I was content to eat large pieces of meat, and I ran out of meal tickets that I usually reluctant to use, and I burped several times in a row.

At half past nine, there was a faint sound of thunder rolling through the night sky.

Yan Yan is still at school, chatting with people downstairs in the dormitory, looking good-looking, laughing lewdly from time to time, and smoking a cigarette alone after speaking. He didn't go to my dormitory, probably because he was afraid of being beaten again, so he patted his clothes and walked out of the school gate. I hid in the shade of a dark tree and followed him to Nanming Road. He's going to the bus stop, but I can't let him go there, and once he's in a crowded place, there's no chance to do it.

There are no street lights on Nanming Road, there is no half a figure everywhere, and there are faint lights in front of it, which is a semi-closed steel factory. I pulled out the sharp knife from my trouser leg and followed with bated breath. Just as Yan Yan heard footsteps and was about to turn his head, I plunged the knife into his back.

Damn, I practiced countless times last night, and I hit the opponent's vest with a knife, but in the chaos of the night, I couldn't see where the stab went. I only felt that the tip of the knife encountered a lot of resistance, and I had to push harder to go deeper. Then I heard a stern and dull shout, and I didn't expect him to have a lot of strength, like a dog about to be hanged, and he turned around and grabbed me in a rage, and blood burst into my face.

In the past, I always felt that it was easier to kill people in movies than to kill chickens, but when it was my turn to do it myself, I found that it was so difficult to kill a person. After a thrilling sixty seconds, he fell to the ground sternly, staring at me. I gasped and leaned over, wondering what was going on with my face? I think it's just as scary as him.

Suddenly, a few drops of rain hit the top of the head, and in a moment, the night rain poured down.

The icy rain made the heat in the capillaries fade, and the adrenaline secretion stopped.

In an instant, I regretted it a little.

People, why kill people?

Only then did I feel inexplicable fear, even more terrifying than being escorted to the execution ground.

On Nanming Road, where there is no light, I can barely see my fingers, but I know who I am. He coughed violently, blood kept dripping from the corners of his mouth, and said, "Shen...... State...... I...... I swear...... I...... No...... No harm...... ...... hurt you"

The rain hit Yan Yan's mouth, and he could no longer utter a word, nor could he breathe.

He didn't hurt me?

The blood blurred his face, and I touched his neck, which was no doubt a dead body.

Last month, I just watched a tape of the French director's film "This Killer Is Not Cold", in which a man named Léon said, "When you kill someone, everything changes." ”

My fate can never be changed.