"Wake up to me!"
A sound came out, and I woke up from my sleep and found that the car had stopped. There were three more people holding guns and wearing masks in front of me. In an instant, I was completely enlightened and realized that I was suffering a catastrophe. The leader took off his cover and several girls covered his eyes. The man had a long scar on his face and said gritting his teeth:
"We don't want money, nor are we short of money. Kidnapping is just a habit for us."
The man paused when he said this, reached back and got a cigarette from his accomplices.
"If you can answer my question correctly, you can leave. On the contrary..."
"Bang!" The driver shot his head. The crowd was in chaos, and I held my schoolbag tightly. In addition to a pen and two books, there were also 80,000 yuan I just withdrawn from the bank.
"Now I start asking the first question: name a writer." The man said, looking around. Everyone was stunned when they heard this strange question.
"The answer time is only five seconds."
"Lu Xun!" " Zhang Ailing !" " Nanpai Sanshu !" "Tiancan Tudou!" The voices were roaring, basically all the people talking about domestic writers, and some people even heard about Marx, maybe he wanted to say Marquez. I pressed my trembling heart tightly and told myself to calm down at this time: I learned Chinese language and literature by myself, and I usually like to write novels, which is not a problem for me.
"Now I want to narrow down the problem: Who is your favorite serious writer, that is, the pure literature writer? Start with you!" The man pointed a gun at the uncle in the first row of the left. The uncle was fat, his face was covered in sweat, and he said tremblingly:
"Lu, Lu Xun, right?"
"Next!" The man pointed his gun at the next person.
"Can you talk about Lu Xun again?" the second man asked tremblingly.
"What did you say?" The man pulled the insurance with his thumb.
"Ba, Ba, Ba Jin is a serious writer, right? Ba Jin." The second person answered, the man ignored it and walked straight to the third one. It is not difficult to name a serious writer, but according to the current situation, I guess the gangsters may ask a few more questions, and the next questions may be coherent. While I was thinking carefully, the gunshot suddenly rang again.
"Bang!" This time, a young man in his early twenties fell to the ground.
"Everyone said it was a serious writer. You said Chendong , do you think I don't know that he is an online writer? I don't despise the online writer. I asked you to answer my question! Do you understand?" The man raised his gun.
"Understand", "Understanderstanderstanderstanders... The crowd quickly agreed. A few more people passed, and it was my turn.
"Salinger , Jerome David Salinger ." I swallowed and said. This is my favorite writer, and I often carry Salinger's "9 Story " with me. The man glanced at me and said, "It's a little bit interesting." After a round, the driver and the young man's bodies were carried down, and the sound of the bombardment was a little less.
"The second question is to tell a work of this writer." The man sat down and smoked a cigarette. Sparse commotion and sounds came from the crowd. I breathed a sigh of relief: I have read all Salinger's books more than once.
"That, brother, can you still change the writer now?" A woman stretched out her hand tremblingly underneath.
"Do you think you can still change your life?" The man said, and the woman lowered her head and stopped saying a word.
Inquiry started again. At first, people could still stammer and say some reasons, but in the second half, for these passengers, the writer they mentioned became a symbol, an abstract and unexplainable symbol.
"Written well cannot be a reason." The man stretched out his pistol forward, and the woman retreated. The woman said Ding Ling She was not familiar with it, and she blurted out in desperation just now.Zhang Ailing is very familiar with her, "Love in the City", " Golden Lock ", " Half-life Fate "...
"It's late, now, you can live a life by telling Ding Ling's work." The man said. "Meng Ke", she can survive in just two words. Unfortunately, gunfire and shouts rang out at the same time. When people are extremely frightened, their brains are likely to be short-circuited and dull. The gunshots became increasingly dense and rapid, and I kept repeating "Nine Story", "Nine Story", "Nine Story" in my heart...
"Nine Story", I like Salinger's "Nine Story" the most." The hot barrel pressed against my forehead and I shouted loudly. The man slapped my face and said, "Can you make a little less sound?" I was sweating all over my body and looked around. There were less than half of the living passengers left. The man changed a magazine and said, "Very good, now I only have the last question left. Tell me why you like that book." Someone was relieved under
, and the man said, "But, in this round, there can only be one living. In other words, I can only believe in one of your reasons."
People looked at each other, and their eyes were no longer fear, but suspicion and resentment.
"Who says it first!" the man shouted.
The man said, loading his pistol and starting to proceed in sequence. This time I was lucky to be the last one; this time I was unfortunate, because the violent gunfire had shaken my heart to the brink of shattering. Beautiful writing is not; abundant emotions are not; have strong practical significance, not; have established a new school, not; it is very important to your growth, not to do so. No, no, nothing, every gunshot is equivalent to no. I cried when the hot muzzle was pointed at my forehead again.
"Answer my question, why do you like Salinger?" The man had no expression on his face.
"I don't know!"
"If you don't know, you have to die!"
"Then kill me!"
"What are you holding in your hand?" The man did not shoot, but snatched my schoolbag. After pulling the zipper, 80,000 yuan, a pen and the book fell to the ground.
"Nine Stories." The man flipped through the dark green book cover and said to himself.
"Give it back to me." I said tremblingly.
"Give you three seconds and tell me what you think of Salinger."
"I don't know." I burst into tears and started crying.
"Three!"
"I don't know."
"Two!"
"I don't know, I don't know, I don't know."
"One!" A sudden roar, I felt my soul being hit and was retreating rapidly. At this moment, the thoughts deep in my heart surfaced, and I heard my own cry: "Because I envy his strength. I want to surpass him, I want to step on Salinger!"
Yes, this is the idea I have hidden deep in my heart: the writers I admire should be taken tactically and despised strategically. If you imitate wholeheartedly and be a "door dog" willingly, you will only always lag behind the other party. I shouted like this, yelling after yelling, until my roommate woke me up and asked me what was going on, and I still had nightmares at noon. I struggled to sit up from the bed and looked at the dark green book on the bookshelf opposite, and a feeling of rebirth after disaster came to my mind.
"It's okay, let's go to class." I said with a smile. (Author Wang Daye )
