Jiu Ge’s Beloved Spirit

During that period of time, Mr. Shen had been having such a recurring dream.

Brutal crimes are everywhere, and people are biting and eating each other.

The red blood in the sky was like invisible poison, silently soaking into his reason and stimulating his brain.

He began to try to kill people in his dreams, and began to try to see his hands covered with blood.

The sticky blood is cold and has no temperature.

Even his fingers seemed to be completely contaminated by the cold temperature, which lingered.

He began to experience the pleasure of killing, and began to like such a cold and sticky temperature.

In the dream, he felt that he had found what he wanted.

The vague longing in his heart was gradually amplified, amplified, and then amplified by his out-of-control reason.

I can't control it, and I don't want to control it.

He wanted to firmly hold on to the missing part of himself, so he could only keep killing people and use the pleasure brought by killing to make up for the missing part in his heart.

Kill...kill...kill...

The dreams began to eat away at his brain and began to accuse him of attacking living bodies in real life.

The more the living body struggled, the more excited he became, and the more he could feel that a certain void in his heart was filled.

But this is far from enough.

Just once will only be enough for a week.

A week later, the place in my heart that was supposed to be filled was like a bottomless pit, swallowing up that little bit of satisfaction.

Then, a bigger hole was left there, leaving a bigger feeling of loss and dissatisfaction.

Just like a drug, you need to constantly replenish the pleasure to make your heart less uncomfortable.

The effects of psychology and physiology constantly drive him, like a killing machine, with his hands picking up and falling without blinking an eye.

The dream kept reappearing every night, and he kept killing people in dreams and reality.

Of course, even if it is murder, as a doctor, Mr. Shen's obsessive-compulsive disorder requires him to cut completely and beautifully without leaving any ugly wounds.

He became more and more crazy, and the blood on his hands became more and more.

In the hospital, on the street, in the shopping mall... as long as he encountered a skeleton that he could barely see through, he would take action.

It was as if the dream had merged with him, making it difficult to let go.

Later, he could no longer count how many living bodies he had tortured.

He became more and more immersed in this game and couldn't extricate himself.

Until finally, one day, when he looked at the blood on his hands and the pieces of meat filled in the bucket, he suddenly realized that the hole in his heart could no longer be filled.

The joy and excitement of killing were not what he was looking for in his heart at all.

He just kept using them as substitutes, numbing himself.

But paralysis is always time-sensitive and even tolerable.

If you use it too much, it won't work anymore.

What does he want?

he does not know.

It was as if the words were already on his lips, but nothing came out.

He knew that what he wanted was not excitement or killing.

He didn't want anything, he just wanted that indescribable feeling.

It's like a lost deer in the forest, running around, disturbing other creatures, but never finding its home.

He couldn't tell what he wanted and was tired of this disgusting stimulation.

So, he began to stop and began to force himself not to think about that feeling.