All the corpse phantoms disappeared after a pause. The scene in the room began to change again, but this time it changed very slowly. It seemed that it would take some effort to read this part of the memory.
The living room turned into a small bedroom. The bedroom was probably less than 10 square meters. There was a small single bed with a desk on the side. There were some homework books scattered on the table and a
Huge map of China.
The bedsheets have a very common bear pattern and are a little white after washing. The bedside table is a stool. There is a photo on it. In the photo, there is a woman and three children. The three children are not very old. Among them, standing
The little boy in the front is Schiller.
Schiller's eyes suddenly became focused. He remembered where he was and realized that his consciousness was still streaming with the tower at this time. The room should have read the memory in the tower.
This was his bedroom when he lived in the nurse's house.
For a period of time, the Ninth House was renovated and renovated. It was originally renovated in different areas, and Schiller also changed rooms. However, at that time, his condition had just begun to improve. He was in a strange environment and there was construction noise. His condition became very serious.
not good.
The doctors and nurses discovered this, so they discussed with the director and asked the nurse who took him to take him home.
However, it was a confidential unit, and the family building was also in the hospital area, so it was not far from the Ninth Institute. Schiller was taken by the nurse to and from the family building and the doctor's office, and he experienced the feeling of going to school step by step.
.
When he stayed at the nurse's house, due to his illness, he didn't communicate very well with the outside world. He almost didn't talk to the nurse's children, but his memory was very clear, and he knew everything in the temporary small bedroom.
They are all still fresh in my memory.
Schiller, who was sitting on the sofa, seemed unaware of the abyss beneath his feet. He was like a spectator sitting in a movie theater, looking at the room with a sense of nostalgia, and even a little expectancy in his eyes.
Boom, boom, boom, there was a knock on the door. Schiller was very familiar with this sound, because even though he couldn't communicate with the outside world, the nurse still knocked on the door every time.
A familiar figure walked in.
She was a relatively young woman. The nurse at this time was less than 30 years old. She was considered a newcomer in the institute. Everyone took good care of her, so she was assigned to take care of the quietest patients.
Yes, in the Ninth Institute, Schiller was even considered a relatively easy-to-handle patient. At least before his attack, he was a very quiet child, and he could understand instructions and would not attack others randomly.
The nurses and staff at the institute liked him.
The nurse at this time probably had not divorced her husband. Although Schiller had not met her husband, he remembered that he occasionally heard the nurse call several times. Her husband seemed to work in another distant research institute.
I don't come back often.
The face of the woman who walked in was blurred.
This is natural. After leaving the institute, Schiller deleted all the memories of the specific faces of everyone he met in the institute. He only remembered that there was such a person, but he did not remember what he looked like.
"Azhi, don't sit in such a dangerous place." The nurse's voice came from the room. She said gently: "Come here quickly, the meal is almost ready."
Schiller suddenly laughed. He did not face the nurse, but said to the room: "You seem to be unable to see deeper memories. Do you know what the nurse would say if it were a real nurse?"
Then he asked himself and answered: "She will tell me to get out of here quickly, and I will go to the doctor to complain tomorrow morning."
The doctors and nurses who can work in this kind of research institute are not ordinary people. Even nurses in ordinary hospitals, as long as they are in slightly busier departments, cannot be so gentle.
Schiller felt a little disappointed when he realized that it was difficult to restore the people in his memory in this room, but the nurse was still standing by the window, constantly calling him by his nickname.
After a while, the room changed again, this time it became brighter and wider. There were bookshelves with glass doors on both sides of the window. There was a solid wood desk in the center, and a tall figure was sitting on the table with his back to the window.
Write something.
"Azhi...Azhi!! Come here and see how I am doing with this article!" came another familiar voice. The words were slightly unclear with a straight and raised tongue, but the tone was quite strong and powerful.
Schiller didn't need to read it. Schiller knew that it must be another ghost painting. Anatole hadn't even learned calligraphy yet, so he wanted to imitate the dean's calligraphy. Needless to say, the result was that a mental patient would think of it after reading it.
scream.
Doctor Anatoly turned his head. He also had no clear facial features, and it was even difficult to distinguish the race. He shouted to Schiller: "Stop sitting there, you still have questions to answer today."
Schiller laughed again and said: "If it were the real Anatole, he would just carry me down. Of course, it was me when I was a child."
This Anatole's phantom obviously, like other phantoms, could not affect places outside the room, so he could only stand in front of the window and look at Schiller.
After a while, he also disappeared, and the room began to change again. It still looked like an office, but this time there was a large national emblem hanging on the wall opposite the window, and a small red flag on the desk.
"Azhi, in a blink of an eye, you will be going to college soon, and I will retire soon. You must take good care of yourself when you are away from home. Come with me, I have something for you..."
Appearing behind the desk was a somewhat rickety old man, wearing old-fashioned round glasses. His facial features were blurred, but his hands were covered with criss-crossing lines.
The more profound the part in the memory, the more clearly it will be presented here. Schiller was deeply impressed by the dean's hands, because the dean always liked to touch his head, and he was the only one in the entire institute who could not touch his head.
The person who listened to the doctor's warning and reached out to touch his head.
He was a very kind and humorous little old man. He retired when Schiller went to college. However, when Schiller was young, he also had a period of great success.
At that time, he was the one who argued with the crowd and overcame all opinions to invite a Soviet expert, Anatoly, to take charge of Schiller's condition.
Schiller still remembers that when the dust settled and they left the conference room, the dean held his hand and walked through the long corridor.
The walls of the corridor are surrounded by green walls, and the ground is made of brown quartz stone, which seems to be compressed from various stones, with small fragments of different colors embedded in it.
At that time, the sun outside the window was just right, and the trees blown by the wind were as green as ocean waves. In the cement-gray yard, the lines of the basketball court had faded, and there was still water on the edge of the lawn that had not dried up. A lingering feeling lingered in my nose.
It smelled good of books, the big hand he held was rough and dry, and the corridor seemed to be endless.
The figure of the dean also disappeared, and then they appeared again at the same time, both standing by the window calling Schiller's nickname. The originally warm scene looked a bit strange now.
But Schiller didn't mind at all. He nodded to them contentedly like a big star.
These are just fragments of his own memory. Every time he recalls it is like a tour, because he was not driven out or escaped, but he perfectly completed a stage of life and chose to leave.
"I don't know how many people have lived in this room." Schiller said: "But the things they bring you make you think you understand what human regret is."
"You think my regrets must be hidden in my memory. There must have been a moment when I felt imperfect, but I couldn't go back, or I miss it so much, but it's no longer the past."
"Do you think you will be able to find the answer if you keep searching like this, or you think I am a despicable cheater who hides the real answer somewhere you can't find it."
"But, there is no such answer." Schiller shook his head, and his eyes fell on the nurse.
The color of the nurse's clothes began to change, and the clothes from her neck to her chest and then her abdomen were gradually dyed red. She exclaimed, and then let out a short scream, as if she was attacked by something, and the smell of blood once again
permeated the room.
"Yes, this is your trump card." Schiller said: "You think this must be my biggest regret. I hurt someone who cares and loves me, and I must be full of guilt for this."
"But that's not the case." Schiller shook his head and said: "This is the blood that a mother will definitely bleed - do you know how a newborn comes into this world?"
Schiller looked at the ever-changing room and said: "This is my mother's womb. From the time I came here, my only goal, and everyone's only goal, is to get me out of here. This is not an encounter and parting full of regrets."
, but a great pregnancy.”
Schiller lowered his head slightly and said: "Parting is always regretful, but to me, this regret is like a baby leaving its mother's body. How many people would feel sorry for leaving their mother's belly?
"
"Being in my mother's amniotic fluid was warm and comfortable, but the process of birth made me truly come into the world."
"Only people who live a very painful life will regret being born. Do you think I will live a very painful life after leaving here?"
The hallucinations in the room began to gradually dissipate, and red fish appeared one after another, seemingly silently answering Schiller's questions.
"No, I don't kill because of pain." Schiller shook his head again and said, "It's not that I can only gain happiness through killing. I have never been forced to do anything, and I have always had a choice."
"I don't want to be God, or to judge sinners on his behalf. I know clearly that God does not exist. I am not a controlling or corrective type. The secular definition of a murderer cannot define me."
The illusion in the room gradually disappeared, and finally turned back into a messy living room with nothing in it. The clock stopped at 11:59, and the other party still refused to leave.
Glass shards flew up, and the room seemed to be trying to block Schiller's entry so that he could not catch up with Zero Point's inspection.
"If I have to look for the reason..." Schiller spoke slowly, as if talking to himself, "I always felt that I was incompatible with that world and could never establish contact with anyone. I once thought it was a symptom of autism spectrum disorder.
symptoms, but then I discovered that there was only one way for me to deepen my connection with this society and the ordinary people in it."
Schiller chanted softly, like humming a ballad.
"Mother's amniotic fluid condenses into a river, connecting birth and death. People walking on the other side of the river never call my name with joy and love like they do with other babies."
"I came to them, dismantled their bones and flesh, and weaved a new umbilical cord, connecting it to the people on the other side."
"When I reach the end of the river, my spirit and body will decay together, and my grave will be connected to countless graves. This will be the most beautiful and stable connection in the world, just like mother and fetus, just like love and
die."
There was a crash and all the glass shards fell.
The supernatural phenomena in the room have receded.