企鹅气球

Cat In Vein

是写作课作业,最后一天晚上才想起来写所以写的很烂

(是本来就写得差吧


I woke up to find myself lying in the same bathtub, disappointingly alive. The water has already gone down the drain, leaving me sticky with oxidized blood stains all over, like the wooden rod inside a chocolate ice-cream. 

It took me a while to notice my wrist. I was too dizzy. The bleeding had stopped, for the cut had been sewed——perfunctorily, with the brightest pink thread one can ever find. 

Shit.


I live alone. Someone must intruded my house during my suicide process to do all that. 


In thoughts of self-defense, I jumped out of the bathtub in my birthday suit, almost tripped while trying to reach the knife I used to cut my wrist one hour ago, which, I remembered, was left on the sink. 

But the knife wasn’t there. It was replaced by a cat covered in glutinous dark red stains which smelled like blood.

The cat stared at me. I stared back.

The cat talked. ‘For your own sake, man, put on some clothes. You look like you just raped and murdered a five-year-old and ate his body raw.’ It said.

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When I finally got out of my bathroom (clean and dressed and depressed), the cat was already waiting on my couch, with a proud look and a tea set by its side, completely reversing the roles of guest and host. I didn't even know I own a tea set. 

I wanted to say something. The cat shushed me with its paw.

‘Yes, it was me who sewed the cut on your wrist. But please sit down and listen for now,’ it said, ‘for we are in a serious situation.’

For no reason (all those dizziness I got from the loss of blood stopped me from wondering about why on earth would a cat talk or serve tea or sew someone’s bleeding wrist), I gave it a solemn look which it wanted, and it continued.

‘I’ve been living in your vein all these years. Your artery, to be specific. I flow with your blood——that’s where my home is. But today I was pushed out of my chair when having afternoon tea and flushed all the way here. Before I could react to the situation, I have already become homeless. ’ 

I had no idea what it was talking about. And it kept talking. 

‘Don’t act that surprised. Look, man, there has surely been no renting contract between us, but it’s still kind of cruel of you to force me out of my house like this.’ 

I sat silently. The cat sipped its tea before continuing its story.

‘In case you wonder, I’m no monster in poorly written children’s literature, neither am I a parasite. I don’t make messes, I’m not a dog. We cats seek nothing but warmth and good Netflix Series. I spent my peaceful life through watching cartoons and eating carbohydrate, but it all ended today. You kicked me out with the most unreasonable behavior in the seven kingdoms, and now I’ll have to find my place in a pet store til someone else introduces me to his mundane life. I’ll have to bear his shit till he bleeds, only to get into another good vein. And this is all your fault——I don’t even care about your reasons behind all this sick fuck.’

It gave me a brutal look after this series of accusation. I didn't even know where to start. 


I slit my wrist to avoid feeling guilty in the first place. 


But I still apologized. I never thought my vein offers warmth or Netflix, I said. I never linked anything in my life with that kind of good things.

‘That’s what you don’t know, you ignorant brat.’ The cat answered. 

Seems like it had forgiven me.

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The cat was going to stay in my apartment till I found it another landlord. This was the compensation we agreed on. 

‘Why can’t you just get back into my veins though?’ I waved my arm at it while it was watching My Little Pony on my sofa. 

‘I don’t know the exact reason,’ it said, chewing popcorns, ‘something within the blood I guess. Something decisive flown away like migrating birds when people cut their wrists open. They become ships without anchors afterward.’

I laughed.

‘You’ll make a good christian in the 12th century.’ I said. ‘But I was incomplete before committing suicide. I merely did that to turn things around.’

‘I’m afraid it is not like that.’It answered with a soft, pitiful voice.

We sat in silence.

‘Besides, you’re gonna slit your wrist again after all this, aren’t you?’ said the cat.

‘True.’ I answered.

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I called Murphy out for lunch. We never liked each other back in high school.

I kept the cat in my backpack with me.

I forgot about how our conversation went, but it certainly went the way I expected it to. Forty minutes later we were in the alley out the back door of the restaurant, with both of Murphy’s two hands stroking on my neck, my back hitting hard on the wall. What’s next was pretty predictable——he hit me with a jab, I returned a hook, etc. We fought.

The last thing I remember before I lost consciousness was Murphy’s nose. It was bleeding like the Red Sea. The Red Sea isn’t really red, but Murphy’s blood sure was.

I was in no state better than him. I blacked out completely.

When I woke up, both Murphy and the cat were nowhere to be seen. The cat must have already moved into his new house through the wounds on Murphy’s nose now, I thought with relief. 

Now I owe that cat nothing.


I never succeeded in killing myself afterward.

The last time I tried to do it, I filled the bathtub with lukewarm water again, which I used to stimulate the circulation of blood to make them drain out of my body faster. I would lie down in the water, lining up knives and bottles of Stilnox (sleeping pills) on the edge of the bathtub. Then I cry and laugh and cry like cult believers on a ritual.

But I never truly did it. Looking at the scar on my wrist, I trembled so hard the water spilled out like a sea undergoing a storm. 

I got out of the water and crashed beside the toilet, puking like a broken sewer.

I simply couldn't lie to myself anymore. The scar on my wrist stood like a stele of truth.

There were no pink threads on it, because I handled the cut myself, using band-aids.

There was never a cat in my bloodstreams, which came out angrily and ate all my popcorns.

But there was Murphy, who was my best friend back in high school, a real nice guy who watched My Little Pony (through at the age of 17). We used to share the same Netflix account. 

‘What you’ve been doing to yourself is all in vain.’ That’s what he said during our last reunion, when he saw the injury on my wrist. ‘The exit is not that on that direction, and you know that deep down. You just tend to believe in easy explanations, like ‘something decisive in me just flew away like migrating birds’, blahblahblah , so you can let your life go easily without feeling guilty about it.’


‘But your problems will not be fixed with a slip on your wrist. Grow up.’ He said.

In fury and embarrassment, I hit his nose.


I was lying on the cold bathroom floor, beside the toilet with vomitus in it as these memories coming back to me. Yet I am laughing like a madman, only in relieved.

‘I am not a ship without an anchor.’ I whispered to myself and the cat that I imagined.

It never left my vein after all.


I never tried killing myself again. 


希望钢琴老师有好好洗她的咖啡杯

钢琴学了三年之后,我再也弹不下去了,怎么都不行。准确地说不是弹不下去,而是演奏不下去——演奏音乐是有意识的行为,而我一碰琴键就会失去意识,整副头脑像未干的白乳胶似的死死粘在天花板上,接下来的步骤只好全盘交给肌肉反射。


钢琴课倒是照去。染了黄发的钢琴老师像条刚被捕捞上来的鱿鱼似的覆在钢琴旁边的折叠凳上,看似在盯着我,实际上是在透过我近乎透明的空旷头颅观看自己的家具布置。因为某种复杂的缘故,我们均无法在每周的这一时刻处于自己想待的地方。当时我觉得她恐怕因此恨上了我,现在想想未必如此——成年人的头脑等同于没有清道夫存在的鱼池,其间所有东西都裹在一团糊状物中,所谓讨厌啊喜欢啊都不是那回事的。


一日,在听完我玩具猴子敲小鼓似的演奏后,她伸手拿过一旁的咖啡杯,沉默着望向其中的污渍。污渍像干涸的岩浆。沉默一直持续了极长时间,仿佛有鲸鱼的幽灵缓缓穿过房间,在这一过程中把所有声音一同吸入了去。


“你有没有过跑步回家的经历?”染了黄发的钢琴老师最后这么开口,双手抚摸着咖啡杯的底部。


即使有不得不需要步行的情况,又何至于要做到跑步回家这种地步呢?我当时是想这么问的来着。


没有的,我老老实实地回答,我爸爸下班时开车绕半小时路来接我。


类似的经历总是有的吧!肯定有什么特别常去的地方,探望老人之类的,需要换乘地铁公交再步行那么一段路等等,总之路线复杂但是你熟的不得了,全程同时背诵德云社全集或是头顶清代瓷器也能顺顺利利地到达,这种事可有?


有的有的,我说。


跑步的时候,人不用特意去思考如何迈动双脚吧。


是这样的,我说。


这就是问题所在了。人在跑步回家的时候不用刻意思考如何迈动双脚,全靠肌肉驱使,接受了这一事实后,不该由肌肉驱使的东西也渐渐也变得由肌肉驱使了,我说的你可明白?转弯啊上坡啊跳过没盖盖子的窨井啊,这类东西,靠着长久以往积累下来的直觉一样的玩意儿,就算没有通过双眼进入意识中,身体也能对它们作出差不多正确的反应,所以就算一边写着数学作业一边在回家路线上跑步,也能安安稳稳地到家。


是这样的,我说。


但是,一直跑步是不行的。什么东西都是,一直被膝跳反射一样的玩意儿牵着走,终归会走到完全陌生的地方去的,只要在路上摔一跤,就全完了,你明白吗?你被回家路上的小石子绊了一跤,数学作业撒了一地,把作业纸捡起来之后,你支撑着站起来,发现自己对所处的方位完全一概不知——因为你从来没有依靠自己的力量回家过。牵引你的玩意儿像开玩笑似的丢下你了,到那个时候你就完完全全被遗弃了。我这么说你听明白了吧?


所以要慢慢走路。我说。


对,所以要慢慢走路。



这个谈话过后没多久我就我上了有宿舍的初中,每周放一次学,不用跑步也不用走路回家。想在寄宿学校练琴得看一堆陌生人的脸色,还要填一堆再生纸制成的表格,那表格散发着一股垃圾味儿,我烦的要命,再加上本来就不知为何要学钢琴,过了不久就将其彻底搁置了。有关那玩意儿的一切都忘得一干二净(恨不得把高音谱号和低音谱号都混淆一通),这段对话也包括在内。直至今天早上翘掉了课,在学校的旮旯处闲逛时,才因机缘巧合想起来。


可是此时,我环顾四周,发觉自己已经处于完全陌生的地方了。


我决定以后在lofter上发自己写的烂小作文!


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