When I was eight years old, my father told me not to go to that river.
I still remember the day when my father said this: his face was gloomy and his tone was stiff. He pointed to a hillside in the distance and told me that he would never go to the nameless river behind the mountain, do you understand? After my father finished speaking, he pushed my shoulder. At that time, I had just been to elementary school and made a lot of friends. I ran around the village every day. Because of my strength, I was elected as the "head" by my friends, and they all had to listen to me. I raised my proud head and asked my father, why can't I go to that river?
"If you can't go, you can't go!" My father yelled at me and even slapped me hard. This slap struck me. Before that, my father had never hit me. And on that day, because of an unknown river, there was a trace on my face. Although this trace gradually dissipated after a few minutes, it grew quietly in my heart - it was the seed of resentment, it was the incomprehensible anger. More than 0 years later, as time slipped, I became more and more troubled: when I was twelve, I held a brick and knocked my deskmate's head because he didn't let me see the answers to my homework; when I was fifteen, I formed a clique and fought with people from other schools behind the playground, my cheeks were pierced, and I still had scars; when I was eighteen, I didn't get into college and was thrown into a car repair shop as an apprentice, working during the day, and mingled with friends at night. I have had many loves, but as life becomes more and more embarrassing, it all fades away.
When I was twenty-three years old, I participated in a fight in a daze. When the crowd dispersed, my hands were covered with blood. I was sentenced to five years and spent the last time of my youth in prison.
In fact, I have also confessed and reflected on myself, and I will regret all the bad behaviors in the past. But I will never understand why my father, who has always been kind, got angry at a small river when I was eight years old. After my father slapped me that day, the next morning, I climbed over the hillside with anger and came to the back of the mountain. The river flows there, quiet and peaceful, I can't see anything special. That day I walked forward with the river water, and swam for a while with the water nature, without touching anything.
When I was twenty-five years old, I was released from prison early due to my good performance in prison for three years of reduction in sentence. I tried to go to several construction sites, and I also tried to be a self-employed person, selling some cold skin barbecue, but none of them improved. The loyalty that I once proud of, as well as the so-called conscience and curiosity, were all defeated by the heavy society. When I was thirty, my father fell seriously ill. At that time, I was completely depressed and had to drink a lot of inferior white wine every day to suppress the scars and grief in my heart. On the day my father left, I sat by his bed. The cancer caused all his hair to fall off. He stretched out his dry fingers and told me to live a good life. But what do I use to live? I want to tell my father that it is you, it is all because of you, and because of that inexplicable river that I ended up in such a situation.
html More than 0 years later, when I wrote these words, the river had completely dried up and there was no trace. When I was twelve, I did not knock my deskmate's head with a brick; when I was fifteen, I did not form cliques, and I did not suffer in prison when I was twenty-three. My father's slap is real, and the story changes from here: my father's slap did not cause anger, but brought me fear. In the evening of that day, I lay on the bed and cried bitterly, and didn't wake up until noon the next day, and didn't go over the mountain at all. In fact, the next day I learned the secret of the river: a distant cousin drowned while swimming in that river. The nameless river took away many young people's lives. It was not until the government built a reservoir, drained it completely, and planted acres of grain after acre, that the drowning incident finally ended.Don’t go to that river, now I understand that that river means unknown and temptation. In my life, there are too many such rivers: what is terrible is not the river, but the weak self is always full of yearning for things that are far and unknown.That slap changed my destiny, but in this long life, whenever I recall this, a hint of bitterness always arises in my heart. (Author Wang Daye)
