Wine and Gun

They all thought it was sadness - it was just sadness.

Albarino stared at his father, and for a moment the young man seemed lost in thought, and then he replied, "Okay, but if you need anything—"

He exited the door as he spoke, and at this moment he could see the things that made the fire in the fireplace blaze: paper, inner pages torn from books, white pages slowly devoured and curled by the fire, strangely scorched black submerged.

It was his mother's diary, obviously; that letter, together with Shana's diary, had been lying on his father's desk for the past two years. I don't know how many times it was turned over by the latter. Talk about it as if the thing doesn't actually exist.

When Albarino was about to close the door, Charles suddenly said hoarsely, "Al?"

"Dad?" Albarino stopped and asked in a low voice.

"Al, you know, no matter what you..." His father seemed to want to say something, but he paused strangely and shook his head with a wry smile, as if he didn't know how to say it. Then he said again, "You know I love you, right?"

Albarino was silent for a while, then said, "I know."

"Go," his father said softly.

So Albarino gently closed the door of the study, listening to the slight click of the latch when it was engaged. He didn't leave, and he didn't dedicate his time to the kind of vacation life that any college graduate like him would have, as his father would have liked—he had received a letter from the Perelman School of Medicine at the University of Pennsylvania. The admission letter from the college, when the average person arrives at this moment, they are often willing to spend their time traveling or having crazy sex with their girlfriends in the bathtub. It is the kind of "real life" that young people are immersed in frantically. He made sure the door was closed. Then he leaned against the door, put his weight fully on, and began to wait silently.

He counted from one to three hundred and twenty-four when he heard a gunshot. The voice was strange and shrill, a completely different tune from the one played on TV.

Albarino stood at the door for a while, then pushed the door open again and walked in. He could see the revolver slid from Dr. Bucks' hands to the floor, and blood was dripping from his fingers, dripping into the rug by the fireplace, seeping slowly into it.

Albariño calmly passed through the smell of gunpowder, picked a white wine glass from the shelf by the wall, then picked up the bottle of Riesling from the desk and poured himself a glass of wine.

Except for the slight sound of glass crashing, the room was almost dead silent.

He leaped over the pool of blood that was gathering on the ground and sat in another chair by the fire, shrouded in flickering light, just in the direction of his father's armchair. So he could see the blood running from between the brown hair, and the room was gradually filled with a heavy fishy smell.

That shouldn't be, he thought slowly, that such a sweet Riesling should be paired with blue cheese and caramel desserts. His father should have known that too.

Albarino sighed softly before bringing his lips to the rim of the glass.

His head also lay in the scorching sun. The number of dead here is really unknown, and no one knows their names; no one knows his name. This head, at some point, had produced great thoughts, bright dreams, love for art and "beauty"; it had shed two lines of tears, and had hoped for "immortality".

The skeleton fell to pieces, dust within dust.

The two corpses stood at the end of the white marble steps.

They were indeed set up as bloody murder scenes - in every sense of the word - and the younger one was held in place by some sort of brace, pale skinned and covered in a pale Greek blue. The silks covered the decaying parts of his body and the filthy green of his skin; beneath these blue satins, innumerable pale blue crocuses and hydrangeas gushed out, as if he were standing in the blue On the waves, or standing in some strange blue wreckage.

His throat was skillfully cut open, and the state of the cut surface shows that the skin here was cut open after death. The huge space in his throat was filled with blue hydrangea, and those blue petals were like blue hydrangea. Words generally poured out of his throat.

The other is relatively unseemly, and it is even difficult to judge his gender when he sees him at first sight: the entire upper body of the deceased has almost disappeared, and the white skull and rib shimmering in the morning light , with only a small amount of muscle left in the legs and back, while the skin was completely stripped away, and the rotting flesh exuded a disgusting smell on the white steps.

And between these flesh and luǒ exposed bones, flowers are used to transition, pale red wood hibiscus and tulips fill his abdomen and chest, while bright red poppies gushes out from the hollow eye sockets of the skull, the color Bright to the point of a little hideous.

The deceased was placed on his back on the ground, his hand with only bones and a little muscle struggling to reach the sky, the pale phalanx was fixed by the wire, pointing in a certain direction of the sky.

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