From Car Overlord To The World’s Top God

Looking at Hathaway lying on the sofa and sleeping quietly. Lin Feng smiled slightly.

Now, he suddenly felt a little boring.

So he found the drawer at the tea table in the living room and took out the pen and paper from the drawer. Because after Hathaway forced him to write last time, he seemed to be puzzled by the writing. Of course he did not write well and did not modify it, but he had many ideas in his mind.

Lin Feng had read a lot of books, but now it's time to use them.

Exhale gently.

Lin Feng wrote the first story.

The title is "Lock and Box".

The content is as follows:

I was lying on the bed; I was suddenly angry, but I don't know why I was angry, I can't remember, I just want to lie here.

The sun was over, and while I was not paying attention, the afterglow on the smooth white walls quietly faded. This room is my room with her. There is a torn wooden box in the corner of the room. It has not been taken care of for a long time, and the lid of the wooden box is covered with ash.

She comes in, turns on the lights, and then goes out. She didn't know if she looked at me, anyway, I don't look at her. However, she left without asking me if I would like to use 22 fans, which made me very sad.

The weather was sultry and two mosquitoes buzzed out of the bedding on the corner of the bed. In this extremely quiet evening, I heard them clearly. After a while, my ankles began to itch, which was bitten by a mosquito. I think I should get up and turn on the fan, and then wipe the wind oil.

However, I don't want to get up, and I don't want to move.

Mother came to the bed, looked at me, and asked me to get up to eat. I didn't speak, but held back, looking at my mother melancholy. For the first time, I noticed that my mother's hair was white and the corners of her eyes were full of wrinkles. My mother didn't notice my bitterness or grievance, or she should have noticed it, but she just didn't say it.

In fact, my stomach is extremely hungry and my mouth is thirsty, and my feet bitten by mosquitoes make me unbearable. I do not say, even the mother. I grew up.

I lied to my mother that I am not hungry and let her go out. The tone squeezed out a hint of bluntness and indifference. With that said, she really went out.

Tears slipped at the corners of his eyes, dripping on the pillows, in the dim room; his eyes suddenly blurred. I tilted my head and saw the wooden box in the corner. The wooden box was hung with an iron lock, and the key was inserted in the keyhole.

It was a fictional story that Lin Feng thought about temporarily. Then he wrote two more fictional stories. It's all written in the first person, not what he has experienced. Maybe Lin Feng really has the gift of being a writer, so he can write a lot of words.

The second chapter is: "The Running Account"

The content is as follows:

I haven't kept a diary for a long time.

When I was young, because the diary was homework assigned by the teacher, I often wrote it. I remember that in the fourth grade of elementary school, the National Day holiday, the teacher assigned eight diary homework, I only spent a day to write a single sentence. But what I wrote is a documentary. For example, there is a diary that I still remember, writing that I gave my mother a "ring" made of sage stalks; after I finished writing, I ran outside to the side of the road to pick it up. I came back with a sage, and then made a "ring" and put it on my mother's finger. The old sisters are different from me. They never write honestly. They either copy the contents of the diary anthology, or ask someone to write on their behalf, but the purpose is simply ridiculous, so that the teacher can give them a high score. point.

I suddenly remembered writing such an article because I read the novel "84 Charing Cross Street" by Hailian Humph. The novel is completely documentary. She stated in the book that if Chaucer had written a diary as a servant at the Palace of Charles III, she would prefer to read Chaucer's diary rather than his fictional story. I love reading like Hanfu, but I don't like to read fictional stories. This is really hard to imagine; obviously I don't have such a preference.

After graduating from elementary school, not to mention the diary, I rarely even write essays; maybe I wrote it before, but I forget it completely.

At this time last year, because I missed a girl, I wrote a full month of diary with a total of 20,000 words. Now I turned it out again, and found that apart from being emotionally pleasing, there were a lot of nonsense, inquisitions and teeth, and nothing was true. Therefore, I want to pick a good day to burn down this shameless secret.

Maybe many years later--maybe not so long. When I read these words again, I will also become angry and shy, and then secretly burn these "memories"; just like I am preparing to burn down my diary.

The reason is very simple, because I have always been indecisive and capricious.

Ugh. Speaking of it, life is a running account. It doesn't matter whether it's boring or meaningful. If you think about it, what's the record?

Lin Feng was dissatisfied with these, so he wrote the third article:

After I had a full meal, I went into the room and took out my mobile phone and put it in my pocket. Then I put the cigarette and lighter in the sink on the head of the battery car. After finding the key, drive straight out. I didn't say hello to my parents because they all knew where I was going.

Go out and drive west. At this time the sun hadn't sunk down the mountain, the sun was shining brightly, shining on the palm tree leaves in the neighbor's garden, and on the tiles of a tall building across the road, glowing with golden light. Far away, I saw the stone monument at the entrance of the village. Recently, the construction of a new countryside has been carried out, and new stone tablets have been erected in all the villages in the vicinity. The names of the villages are naturally written on the stone tablets.

I went straight along Songzhou Road, and a few motorcycles suddenly came over from the front 860. The driver was disheveled and tired. It was a worker who had just returned home from the construction site. As I drove by, occasionally one or two people I knew would greet me. Immediately afterwards, as I drove forward, there were more and more residents on both sides of the road, including small shops, shops, health centers, as well as old ladies sitting at the door to enjoy the cool after eating, and new people's milk holding their children. Dad, the kid who forgot to go home by bike, etc. After bypassing the round banyan tree for greening the road, the road instantly became more spacious and straighter.

This road can lead directly to the destination. On both sides of the road is a green grassland, and there are piles of cattle. They gnaw at the green grass under the sunset, either standing or lying on their stomachs. There are several bare tombs nearby.

I drove into a small village, and then crossed several sandy paths. Outside the door of the villa, under the willow tree, I slowed down, drove up the concrete slope, and reached the dam.

Having written this, Lin Feng sighed. Secretly thought: "What are these things that I wrote? What are they?"

However, Lin Feng hasn't realized that he himself has fallen into a big trap, and all this makes people-even Lin Feng feel suddenly. .

Thank you for reading this story at mtlarchive.com. Your support enables us to keep the site running!