SP | Short Story - "Kidnapping" (II)

After he found out that the other party was not on duty, the depression did not last long, and the long-arrived bus finally arrived at the station as scheduled. Once again, he enjoyed the stability that things always met his expectations, not knowing that he was already too used to it and was kidnapped.

He jumped on the bus and searched for a seat—and sifted through the other passengers in the same space for another contrast that could break the spell for him. Looking for a position where he can keep a distance from others and observe the environment like a military advisor who has insight into the overall situation.

He sat in the only remaining vacant seat on the bus, filling up the seats of uncertain needs, but his inner impetuosity was not realized or satisfied.

His resentment was like the nervousness he used to be in front of the clerk. No one knew that he was hiding his dissatisfaction with the world, using strange behaviors to defuse unspeakable emotions, and longing for who could see all his bluffing disguise.

"Ugh!"

He sighed, since he found himself obsessed with planning and arrangements, and wanted to put a certified good baby seal on everything that appeared in his eyes, and only what he agreed with would appear in front of his eyes.

He didn't seem to be ready, facing the uncertainty that the hands of the clock might stop at any time in the next second, he denied the past in the flowing time, and it must always be the future to come. When the bus arrived at the stop, he immediately took out his wallet and swiped his card to get off the bus. He extended his hand close to the machine and handed over his expectations to the world.

Thinking of a student who was studying hard and sitting in the audience waiting for the teacher to call his name, it was his turn to pick up the test paper, and he couldn't stop being nervous until he learned that he got an A+ or B-: take the card to the card reader Never knew how it would turn out before.

Sometimes people can't stop trying, even though they can know what the result is.

Everyone who hears it is warned not to directly touch the hot steam with their hands, and people will still reach out and touch it, wanting to know how hot it is. Knowing that many expectations would be slapped by the foresight from the future, he was still kidnapped and ran forward with stubbornness.

Running forward, on the way to the meeting place with friends who are willing to communicate with him, before he realized that he was so humble, he first realized and thought about why he had to work so hard to make time to move in space.

After all, it is never easy to start and end every journey at the border of the city and the suburbs.

He told himself: run forward. No matter how hard the journey is, no matter whether you can reach the finish line or not; run forward, enjoy the passion of life with the self in the eyes of others as the inner driving force, you don’t know where the finish line is, but you still keep running forward.

I don't know if I can reach my destination, but I still run forward. Can this kind of willfulness make people truly free?

It turns out that the focus has always been on the present moment, the moment to love everyone around you; the moment to constantly show freedom by moving forward; the moment to continuously realize the language from its potential.

Let’s run forward, it doesn’t matter whether we can get the first place or not, applaud for the self who is constantly wrestling with fate and the world, and constantly struggling, because of the miracle that you and I met.

(to be continued)

postscript

Compared to most of the other articles on my homepage, this novel has been chopped into small, compact paragraphs for easier reading. However, to be honest, I do prefer to write long texts and long paragraphs.

In the Internet age, people are more and more resistant to reading articles that are not short, serious topics, and articles with few pictures. They are even more impressed by the recent turmoil in Matters. I never dared to think that my articles were of high quality, but I I always came here because I believed that my own words were valuable.

As for a lot of trivial matters, first dig a hole, and then write an article to say that it feels good.