On September 30th, a quarrel between a man and a woman happened in the staff lounge of the Sixth Middle School and alarmed the sparrows perched on the telephone poles.
With a bang, the quarrel ended abruptly.
The man looked at the bloody trophy in his hand, and his girlfriend that had collapsed onto the floor with pupils slowly enlarging. No matter how much he knelt down to apologize, slap her, or shout, he could no longer amend the huge mistake.
The trophy in his hand dropped down and he knelt down on the ground. He pulled hard at his own hair, crying silently with regret and punching his own chest with his fists in remorse.
Someone knocked on the door and he turned back suddenly. His eyes suddenly turned fierce, and a colleague said outside, "Teacher Yan, my textbook has been left inside."
"I... It’s not convenient right now."
Teacher Yan glanced at the corpse on the ground. He didn't know whether the lie came from his heart. He just felt his tongue move and said it out loud naturally.
He knew in an instant what price he would have to pay to back up this lie.
"Oh, got it. Then I'll retrieve it after the holidays. Happy holidays."
Hearing the sound of the footsteps going away, the smile on Teacher Yan's face disappeared. He was brought back to the cruel reality. This matter must be dealt with and he must not give the game away, but what did he have to do? His brain was already in a mess...
Being in the same room as the corpse, his thoughts were changing every second. One moment, he would trace things back to the root of the tragedy. Another moment, he would imagine the heavy punishment, during which he suddenly jumped up, slapped the corpse's face a few times and gritted his teeth while cursing, "It’s all your fault!"
The body seemed to move. He wasn't sure if it was an illusion. He jumped away as if he was electrocuted. He knelt on the ground and stared with wide eyes. He stayed in this position for five minutes and dared not blink.
He wanted to smoke, but he didn’t have any cigarettes with him. He remembered that there were Zhonghua cigarettes that a student’s parents had gifted to another teacher inside a drawer. He hesitated for a while, and shook his head in resignation, “Who cares about him?!”
He opened the packaging and took one out before smoking it with pleasure. After some time of not touching nicotine, the pleasure was unparalleled when he breathed it deeply into his brain. The sense of numbness made his finger-tips tingle slightly.
He sat on the ground with the cigarette and his right hand on his bent right leg. He criticized the person on the ground, "You don't understand anything. I don't have the kind of background as you. Every step of my life is ten thousand times harder than yours. You only know how to criticize others, saying this and that is wrong, as if the world would be perfect without this and that. You’ve
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