Chapter 213: Tolerance!

"Come again!"

Martin pointed a bamboo stick at him and kicked him with a knife. Cowell, who has only one hand, is not as flexible as before, which is very inconvenient.

His iron hand of bayonet had been taken by Martin when he had locked him up in the basement. Cowell glanced around and saw a shovel next to it.

Martin also saw the shovel and said no. Colwill sprinted quickly at the shovel, and Martin rushed to stop him, only to be knocked back by a stick as he was about to reach the shovel.

Cowell withdrew his hand in pain, not daring to take it again, but turned and grabbed Martin with a charge, pushing him towards the shed and slamming it hard against the stake.

Martin was hit on the back and fell to the ground, his bamboo stick slipping down. Colwell crouched down, grabbed him by the neck, and pinched him hard.

Martin grabbed his hand upwards and clasped his blindfold and ripped it off. Cowell's blindness was revealed, and he quickly let go of Martin and went to pick up his blindfold.

Taking advantage of this opportunity, Martin quickly rolled over, controlled Colwill and pinched his neck.

"Didn't you always want to die? All right! I'll help you! I'll help you, I'll help you die......"

Martin gasped as he spoke, his hands pinching his neck. Cowell's face swelled, and he had grabbed Martin's hands and put them down, stopping his struggle.

"Kill me! Kill me! Kill me! ”

Cowell kept shouting, begging him to kill him, and the more he shouted, the quieter it became. Martin pinched him and was almost out of breath, roaring and shouting at the same time as him.

After pinching for a moment, Cowell looked at the sky and felt like he was about to die, his eyes widening. Martin suddenly let go of his hand and sat down next to him tiredly.

He can't do it, he still can't do it!

Cowell gasped and breathed heavily. When he was really about to die, he actually longed to live in his heart, and there were tears in the corners of his eyes.

He reached out and clenched his fist, pounding the ground hard, he was angry that he was useless, a piece of waste. Martin paused for a moment, then stood up and reached out and handed it to him.

Cowell waited for a moment, then grabbed his hand and stood up. Say that he lost, that he himself is a waste, that he should not live, that you can kill if you want!

Martin ignored him, and pointed to the path down the hill on the right, indicating that he could walk at any time. He's not going to be locked up anymore, he's free from now on.

Turning around, Martin walked over to his work desk, placed the bamboo stick on the edge of the table, picked up a plank, and began to continue shaving the wood to finish the unfinished work.

Cowell picked up the knife from the ground, gave it back to Martin, and placed it on the workbench. Then he walked to the side, grabbed the cart, and went down to work.

He didn't leave, but helped Martin push the dead bodies, pushed the three dead bodies in the car into the three dug pits, and picked up the shovel next to him to fill the earth.

Martin glanced at him, his expression slightly amused, and continued to trim and shave the plank.

With Cowell's help, I originally had to do a day's work, but I was almost done in half a day. Martin erected a monument to the new deceased, and the nameless ones were all inscribed as the victims.

Perhaps in the eyes of others, he buried all the dead in his own field and erected a monument for them.

He doesn't care what others think, he sees this as tolerance, the purpose of his life. Burying dead bodies every day has become his job and task.

The day passed quickly, and after all that had been done, Martin's mission for the day was complete. He came home with Week 8, with Cowell following behind.

Back at the residence, Cowell walked to the basement on his own, back to the small room where he was locked. He put the iron cuffs on himself and stayed alone inside.

After a while, Martin brought him food, uncuffed him, took the food out and handed it to him. Cowell thanked him and said thank you.

Martin smiled at the thank you, feeling that what he had done was worth it. He said I'll see you tomorrow, turned around and took the basket and left.

Maybe it was carelessness, when he closed the door, the door left a little gap and was not locked, but he didn't know that Cowell naturally saw it.

Late at night.

Cowell looked at the unlocked door and thought to himself. The handcuffs were not locked, they were just on his hands, and he walked out of the small room several times, but did not take a step out of the door.

Finally, after a quiet moment, he walked to the door and pulled the unlocked door open. Or go up the stairs and see that Martin's room has the lights out.

I also fell asleep on the eighth day of the week, but when I heard the movement, I suddenly shrugged up. He recognized Cowell, so he didn't yell, and he was chained to the corner by Martin.

Cowell walked over and took a bone in the hole next to the eaves and threw it to Zhou Hachi, fearing that it would wake people up, so he gagged him first.

He then walked to Martin's room, opened the door softly, and entered. As soon as he entered, he got a knife against the wall and walked into Martin's bedroom.

By the light of the moon, he saw that in Martin's room, on the table was the food that was to be delivered tomorrow and that he had made for him, and on the other side was his own food.

When the white cloth was uncovered, there was no overdue luxury food, only a piece of moldy steamed buns, some superfluous, food corners and failed products.

The unfinished ones, and the extra corners that were cut off, were what Martin ate every day. And the meals that are delivered to myself every day are the best.

In the kettle next to it, there was a pot of boiling cold water, and the water poured from the cup was like drinking. Next to the glass glass, there is also a box of pills, which is a medicine for headaches.

He was very moved in his heart, and he felt a little uncomfortable in his heart, and looked up to see a drawing board hanging on the wall of his bedroom. What he had painted on the drawing board, he had also seen on the basement wall.

It seems that the person who drew this picture should be his child, but he has never seen this child. Walking further inside, Martin slept on a wooden bed, lying on his side with his back to him.

At the head of his bed, there is a picture frame of a picture of him and his wife, and his children. That's how Cowell knew the child, a girl.

Martin didn't fall asleep, his eyes opened and he glanced to the side, and found that Cowell was holding a knife, standing behind his back, and instantly became nervous.

Because now, completely defenseless, he can kill himself at any time. And his bamboo stick is also under the bed, so it is inconvenient to get it.

He continued to pretend to be asleep, and Cowell looked at the picture and remembered his daughter and wife. He felt that Martin must have a story to tell, perhaps similar to what happened to him.

After a moment's hesitation, Colwell left Martin's room, placed the knife in the corner, closed the door and walked out. He didn't kill him and walked back to the basement.

Martin let out a long sigh of relief, a drop of cold sweat slid down his forehead, and he was glad that he had escaped. I am also glad that he can change, restrain his impulses, and slowly learn to be tolerant.