"What was left behind of the deceased?"

What does each of us leave behind before we die?

Tombstones always crumble, and decades later, whatever is inscribed on them will always become so indecipherable that they are indecipherable.

In the past, no one would take care of the graves, and the cemetery would often be redistributed by the newly buried dead.

Only the children and parents of the deceased go to pay their respects, and grandchildren rarely go once, and great-grandchildren almost never go.

In the metropolis, the dead are supposed to be laid to rest in eternal peace, but their bones are often disturbed.

Perhaps in order to make better use of the land, the village cemetery will be redeveloped, where new residential complexes will be built.

The land is getting more and more crowded, both for the dead and even more so for the living.

Half a century of restful sleep was already a great luxury for the dead, and perhaps only before electricity was invented.

Who cares about a person's death when the entire planet is dying?

Every survivor of the subway will not be buried after death, and they don't even dare to hope that their bodies will not be eaten by other creatures within a week.

The remains have the right to exist until the living forget who they once belonged to.

People always remember their relatives, their classmates, and their comrades-in-arms, but this memory is only enough for three generations, and more than one year to be exact.

How forgetful humans are, one day the images of our grandfather and our classmates will eventually disappear from our minds, and one day someone will banish us from our memories. _o_m

The memory of a person may last longer than a skeleton, but when the last person who remembered us also dies, we will also dissolve in time with him.

Photo? Who still takes pictures now?

Who will keep the photos of the people who have taken them?

Once upon a time, there were many yellowed old photos in every family's heavy family album, but people who flipped through the album were rarely sure which one in the photo was their ancestor.

Perhaps these photographs are for the deceased as a mask removed from their bodies after death, and by no means a plaster cast made from their reproductions while they were alive.

In these photographs, the voices and smiles of the deceased before their death will always decay more slowly than those recorded in the hearts of the living.

But what will be left?

"Kids?"

Homer lightly touched the flame in the candlelight with his finger.

He was a lonely bachelor who had pondered the matter, and Ahmet's words still stung him.

He was destined to have no children and no more daughters, and there was no possibility of reproducing his own offspring.

He picked up the pen again.

"They have a slight resemblance to us. There is a shadow of us looming in their lines, and their faces magically blend the characteristics of us with our lovers.

We can see ourselves in their postures, in the curvature of their eyebrows, and in their grimaces with emotion. Friends will tell us that our sons and daughters are carved out of the same mold as us.

This may be telling us that when we close our eyes and our hearts stop beating, children will continue our lives. ”

But each of us does not exist as it is, and our children are replicas of what we are.

The way we exist is like that of the Kerera, each of us is made up of the physical appearance of our parents and the inner part of our parents, half of us comes from our mother and the other half from our father.

In fact, there is no such thing as a unique trait in us, all we have is a myriad of random mosaic pieces.

Each piece is unique, and millions of pieces are put together at random to form a puzzle with no special value in front of us.

Should we be proud when we see our own hooked noses and dimples on the faces of our children?

Although in this world, such noses and dimples have appeared on the faces of countless people in the long history of mankind?

"What have we left behind us in the world?"

Homer had to live heavier than the others. @·error-free start~~

Some people's faith teaches them to put their hopes in the afterlife, and Homer is genuinely jealous of them.

And whenever he himself heard people talk about the afterlife, his mind immediately turned to Nasimov Street.

Perhaps Homer was not just made up of flesh that the corpse eaters refused to swallow, and that Homer possessed anything other than flesh, but that it could not exist on its own apart from flesh and blood.

"What did the king of Egypt leave behind after his death? What did the heroes of Greece leave behind when they died? What did the artists of the Renaissance leave behind after their deaths? What did they leave behind, or were they still alive in what they left behind? ”

"What can humanity leave immortal?"

Homer re-read the words he had written, considered them carefully, and then carefully tore the pages from his notebook, crumpled them into a ball, put them on an iron plate, and set them on fire.

After a minute had passed, three hours of writing had turned into a handful of ashes.

-------------------------

She's dead.

Sasha always imagines the scene of her own death: the last ray of light from the world is gone, everything is dark, and all that is left is eternal darkness.

Darkness and silence from which humanity was born, and everyone inevitably wants to return here.

Sasha had heard stories about heaven and hell, and she had no regrets about going to hell.

The eternal darkness, the silent world, the days of idleness were more terrible to her than a pot full of boiling oil.

Then tiny flickering flames appear in the distance ahead.

Sasha moved slowly towards the position, but couldn't touch the flame: it was a flying firefly, flying away and then approaching Sasha, as if trying to tease her, and then abandoned her, toying with her between applause.

She knew it was just a fire in the tunnel.

Her father once told her that when a person dies in the subway, his soul wanders in an empty tunnel that never dawns, and every such soul will end up in a dead end.

The soul just doesn't understand that it no longer has to be bound to a body, that its earthly life is over.

Before seeing the flames of the Phantom Bonfire, the soul had to continue wandering.

Once you see the flame, you have to go to it desperately, because the flame is sent to meet this soul.

The flame moves to the side, to bring the soul to a place where it can be at peace.