The short story "Toasted Pig."

"Toasted Pig"

Today, the sky is as black as the soot pot that my mother used to boil rice to eat, but my mother is gone for a long time. I don't know where to go. Maybe go up and live in the lights on the pillars. Because my mother said that good people will live high.

I walked barefoot along the hot streets. The rocks bit the soles of my feet, and I was like a fire ant hiding under it.

The stomach screamed so loud that the crow almost startled, flying away.

Some fragrance floats to kick the nose. It's like the heavenly smell that my mother used to wrap in banana leaves to eat as a child.

I turned to see an old uncle standing in front of a broken wooden shop with a small grill on his face, red because of the fire, and his hand was holding a pig's toast, and the pig's skin was so greasy brown that I could barely salivate.

"The pig said to me," I thought in my head. "It said," Don't let me die for free. "

I approached and saw a sign hanging by the stove that said, "Fifteen wood."

I don't know what fifteen is. I only have a stone in my pocket.

I handed the stone to my uncle. He frowned and cursed me loudly.

"Damn it! Go away, go!"

I laughed, and I don't know why people curse when they see such a beautiful rock, and I think you should be happy to get it from me, because the rock has been with the world since dinosaur times.

I backed out, licked my own saliva-stained palm and stopped to look at the many people in line to buy toasted pork.

Everyone wears expensive clothes. Some people smell like perfume. Some people face white like dough to make candy.

But they made a bored face like a pig being hung.

No one talked, no one smiled, only the sound of a cell phone screaming.

They buy a toasted pig and then bite it like chewing a happy shard that doesn't know where it came from.

I looked at the pigs in their hands and felt sad.

Pigs used to run in the fields, used to sing loudly, had mothers, had fathers, had dreams like me.

But now pigs are embroidered, grilled, sold to chewers on foul sidewalks.

"Just like me," I thought in my head.

Finally, I saw a girl with two roasted pigs biting and smiling.

But suddenly the child stumbled upon the stone I had laid just now.

The two grilled pigs bounced in the air, so slowly that I saw them twirling like a meteor.

The pig fell on my head, wet.

The girl cried.

The child's mother ran in, hit me loudly on the head, "Bib!" and dragged the child out to curse me on the street.

I sat still and felt a warm toasted pig on the onion.

People around laughed, some pointed their fingers, some opened their mouths to vomit.

But no one kept picking up the fallen pig and continued eating. No one even said to the pig, "Excuse me."

Finally.

I picked up the pig from my head.

Blow gently, remove the dust, and bite into the words.

It tastes sweet, salty, clay, sweat, life.

But it's the nicest in the world.

I laughed out loud until the crow startled on the pole.

Because the world is like this itself -

A madman has eaten pork in an accident.

Normal people eat pork with money.

But in the end, they weren't happier than me.

Just hide your hunger under the dough and the perfume.

"Synthetic man."