Mu Sen knew that this boy must have indescribable pain in his heart, so he would say such a thing. So Mu Sen not only didn't get angry, but smiled at him: "Yes, but people in this world want to be annoying." ”

The student who lost the list suddenly stopped talking and didn't speak again.

This conversation ended with the sentence 'Rich people, it's really unlikeable, I hate it to death'. However, their fate did not end there. Because of the afternoon time, they met again.

They are the only children in this low-rent house, so they are destined to be entangled.

This time, the two of them only had a simple greeting, and the student who lost the list said to Mu Sen, "I'm sorry for the morning." His expression was very sincere, even a little humble, which made Mu Sen feel again: "This world really doesn't know how to treat people well." ”

Mu Sen could see that this was an extremely proud man, and he was willing to apologize for only one reason, that is, he also knew that he had gone too far.

The fifth sentence that Luo Bangsheng said to Mu Sen was sent through a short message: "I really envy you, if I can, I want to exchange souls with you, enter your body, and enjoy the world you see." ”

Mu Sen didn't have any extra feelings about this sentence except for remembering it, because he often thought that it would be nice if he could exchange souls with him and see the world she saw.

What impressed Mu Sen the most was the sixth sentence that Luo Bangsheng said to him, which was also sent through a short message: "We are friends, so if I want to die, can you hand me a knife." ”

The reason why Mu Sen was particularly impressed by this sentence was because of the second sentence he said, 'I, I often want to die, but I don't even have the courage to die.' Mu Sen knew that because he didn't have the courage to die, he needed someone who handed him a knife.

How to describe such sorrow!

Mu Sen didn't reply to his text message, and then he didn't paint that day, just lying on the ground of the low-rent house and looking at the ceiling in a daze.

What was he thinking? He is nothing like it.

Mu Sen looked at the ceiling of the low-rent housing and tried to think of something, but he couldn't think of anything.

People are really strange, in the past, when he wanted to empty his head, many things kept jumping out, and now he wants to think about something, but he can't think about anything, as if something is holding him, as if something has locked his brain somewhere, and he can't think of anything.

Mu Sen felt a little sad and irritable. He wanted to yell, and he wanted to hold on to the things around him and smash them all the time. But he didn't, he just stared at the ceiling stupidly. They didn't mess around, not because he cherished these things, but because he didn't even have the strength to mess around. At least, that's what he thinks, and he doesn't even have the strength to move.

Kimori wanted to get up, wanted to keep drawing, wanted to at least climb onto the couch. But his body did not obey the call, as if it had taken root in the ground, and he really did not have the strength to move. He used all his strength to pick up the paintbrush, thinking about what to paint, but he suddenly realized that it was all his strength to take the brush.

Now the paintbrush is in his hand and he is lying on the ground. This pen seems to weigh more than 10 million pounds, it is simply heavier than the whole world. Pressed on his hand, he didn't even have the strength to lift his hand. He tried several times, but the hand did not move, and when he tried his best, he clearly felt that he had drawn a few strokes on the paper, but when he opened his eyes to look, he found that there was nothing, and the drawing paper was still white and chilling.

This lifeless color made Mu Sen feel even more terrifying than the blackest pitch black. He even felt the urge to tear the piece of paper and swallow it to declare his victory. He even had the urge to burn everything down with a fire. However, he really couldn't exert any strength, not even the strength to hold a pen, and how could he have the strength to light a fire.

Mu Sen closed his eyes, concentrated all the strength of his body on his right hand, raised his right hand with all his might, and drew something on the sketch paper. He didn't open his eyes, he just drew with the impressions in his mind. And the impression in his mind was that the repeater was crying, he was so lonely, so helpless, but he had to pretend to be very strong, and smile at the people around him. That smile was the smile Mu Sen had when he first met him in the corridor.

At that time, I thought that this person was really good, and to see such a smile in such a place, Mu Sen felt that that person must be a person who is more tenacious than him, and must be a person who is tougher than anyone else. Mu Sen once thought that this was what he was, that he was such a person who sent warm sunshine to others, comparable to God.

But now, when his smile resurfaced in Mu Sen's mind, Mu Sen couldn't help but tremble. He clearly had no strength at all, but he still couldn't help but tremble. The whole body was trembling, like a little chicken left in the refrigerator, like a newborn bear with no fur to protect from the cold, and could not hide in its mother's arms. He couldn't even keep himself from trembling. He was scared and tired, and he wanted to flee, but he had no strength at all, as if he was about to die.

"Ah, it turns out that this is death, it turns out that this is the realm of death." Mu Sen couldn't help but think so, and couldn't help but think: "It turns out that death is such a desirable thing, no wonder everyone is afraid of death." It turns out that death is such a painful thing, no wonder everyone is desperate to live. This is the realm of dying that is so painful, and how painful death must be must be a thousand times more painful than this. ”

Finally, Mu Sen had the idea of living. With this thought, his hands slowly obeyed the control. His grip on the brush regained its strength, and the tip of the pen that moved on the paper became smooth.

But he still didn't open his eyes, and even though his strength had regained, he still felt like his eyelids were stuck with glue. That heavy feeling made him look like a puppet, like a robot that had been implanted.

If anyone saw this scene, he would be frightened: in a room of only six or seven square meters, there was only a dilapidated sofa and a easel, and next to the easel lay a boy dressed in black, with a paintbrush in his hand. However, instead of sitting and painting in a serious manner, he lay on the ground, lying on his back, raising his right hand to draw something on the drawing paper. Only his right hand was moving, and the rest of his body didn't seem to be breathing.

With his own imagination and familiarity with the drawing paper, Mu Sen is very confident that he can draw a recognizable painting.

However, the truth always seems to be worse than imagined, and what he depicts is only a mess.

Mu Sen finally opened his eyes, looked at the mess on the drawing paper, and couldn't help but fall into deep thought.

He finally understood that he still relied too much on his eyes, and ignored what he couldn't see.

Mu Sen was very depressed, it was the first time in his life that he was so depressed.

It's not because the repeater said something too much to him, it's not because he drew a mess.

Why? Mu Sen himself didn't know, in short, he felt lost and couldn't extricate himself for some reason.

If he hadn't been too scared of death, he would have jumped out of the window in no time. However, he was afraid of death, so he had to live.

Mu Sen stared at the mess, his brush tightly in his hand.

He had been staring at the drawing paper for more than four hours, and it was the first time he had stared at something for so long.

For four hours, he didn't even blink an eye. Tears flowed down the corners of his eyes, and he didn't seem to notice it.

If anyone saw this scene, they would be scared half to death.

A thirteen or fourteen-year-old boy cried in a dimly lit room of only six or seven square meters, holding a paintbrush in his hand, staring at a mess. He had a paintbrush in his hand, and the hand holding the brush was bleeding.

Because the force of his fist was so great that his nails sank into the flesh.

Mu Sen looked at the jumbled words for a long time, and finally raised his hand once, and his hand was quickly drawn on the drawing paper.

It is an exaggeration to say that every stroke of his life is worthy of admiration and praise.

Soon, the mess took on a bit of a look.

Mu Sen looked at the revised painting, and suddenly smiled, laughing bitterly, if anyone saw it, I was afraid that they would cry. At this moment, Mu Sen looks like an orphan abandoned by the river, on one side is the bank that he can't be afraid of, and on the other side is the rapidly rising river. His eyes are full of strength to not admit defeat, but people can't help but feel that he is desperate, what is this feeling? Probably only those who have experienced it will understand.

When the mess turned into a repeater, Mu Sen finally stopped writing, and the paper was stained with his blood, and a simple portrait immediately became a strange painting, as if it had been painted with blood.

Mu Sen looked at the painting and stared at it for about five or six minutes before carefully putting it away.

After putting away the painting, Mu Sen exhaled, as if he had finally let go of the burden of a thousand catties, and the whole person became different.

He walked out of his low-rent house and went downstairs to the park.

In the middle of summer, there are not many people coming to the park, the place is so hot that everyone likes to hide in their homes and feel comfortable.

Mu Sen sat down on a bench in a gazebo. He looked across the river and thought to himself: