Super Trick or Treat System

Vaslav said: "This is the body of the country." His voice was soft, almost whispering, "This is the form of our lives." There was silence. Little dark clouds passed by on the road and silently scattered to him and said: "This is a miracle." This seemed to be the first time he realized the true meaning of this fact. "This is a miracle." Enough. Yes, enough.

By the way, his mouth was closed tightly and he died.

Mick felt this death more deeply than their thousands of escapees. Or to be more precise, this death is the key to releasing his suffering to everyone.

Whether the man chose to lie after he died, or the story is true, he feels he is useless. His imagination is too narrow to cover this idea. His thoughts pained his brain, and sympathy broke under the weight of his pain.

They stood on the road, dark clouds shrouded in fuzzy gray shadows, and flew towards the mysterious hills.

it's getting dark.

Cannot go further. Every muscle feels exhausted. There are huge dissected deaths everywhere; but there are no dead cells in this city. If the deceased is inside, the corpse is allowed to hang on his sling. If they form the outer skin of the city, then they will free themselves from their position and release, jumping into the forest below.

There is nothing the giant can do. It has no ambitions and can only continue until it stops.

When the sun disappeared from sight, Popolak sat on a small post to rest, nursing his huge head with his huge hands. The stars came out, and they were cautious with their familiar attitude. The night was approaching, and I kindly bandaged the wounds of the day, blinding the eyes that looked too much.

Stand up again and start to work step by step. It will soon be able to overcome fatigue: it can lie in the graves of some lost valleys and die.

But for a space that still has to move on, each step is much slower than the last step, and the night blooms black overhead.

Mick wanted to bury the car thief somewhere on the edge of the forest. Judd pointed out that from the perspective of tomorrow, burying the body seems a bit suspicious. And, when thousands of corpses are only a few miles away from where they stand, isn’t it ridiculous to only care about one corpse? As a result, the body was laid down and the car plunged into a deeper ditch.

They started to go again.

It's cold now, it's cold now, they are hungry. But the houses they passed by were empty and locked up.

"What does he mean?" Mick said, and they stood looking at the other locked door.

"He's talking about metaphors-" "Everything about giants?"

"That's the belly button of the Trotskyists-" Judd insisted.

"I do not think so."

"I know. This is his dying speech. He may have been prepared for years."

"I don't think so." Mick said again, and then started walking down the road.

"Oh, how about that?" Judd was on his back.

"He didn't attend any parties."

"You mean you think there is a giant around here somewhere? For God's sake!"

Mick turned to Judd. It's hard to see the twilight on his face. But his voice was sober because of faith. "Yes. I think he is telling the truth."

"That's ridiculous. That's ridiculous. No."

Judd hated Mick at that moment. Hate his naivety, he is keen to believe any semi-exciting story, if it has a romantic taste. and this? This is the worst and the most absurd.

"No," he said again. "No, no, no."

The sky is porcelain smooth, and the outline of the hill is black.

"I'm **** frozen," Mick said impatiently. "Do you live here or take a walk with me?"

Judd yelled: "We won't find anything in this way."

"Well, there is still a long way to go."

"We are going deep into the mountains."

"Do what you want-I'm going."

His footsteps receded: darkness enveloped him. A minute later, Judd followed. There was no cloud that night. They moved on, their collars clinging to the cold, their feet swollen and putting on shoes. Above them, the entire sky has become a parade of stars. In the victory of the overflowing light, the eye can choose as many styles as possible according to its patience. After a while, they wrap their tired arms around each other to keep them comfortable and warm.

At about eleven o'clock, they saw the light from a window in the distance.

The woman at the door of the stone house didn't smile, but she understood their condition and let them in. Trying to explain to the woman or her crippled husband what they saw seemed to have no purpose. The hut has no telephone and no vehicle signs, so even if they find a way to express themselves, they can't do anything about it.

They pulled with pantomimes and faces, saying they were hungry and exhausted. They tried to explain further that they were lost, cursing themselves for leaving their phrases in the hands of the public. She didn't seem to understand what they were saying. Instead, she sat them by the campfire and put a pot of food on the stove to heat up. They ate unsalted pea soup and eggs, and occasionally thanked the woman with a smile. Her husband sat by the fire, refused to speak or even looked at the tourists.

The food is good. This inspired their spirits.

They will sleep until morning, and then start a long trek. At dawn, corpses in the wild will be quantified, identified, sorted and distributed to family members. The air was filled with reassuring sounds, eliminating the moans still in their ears. There will be helicopters and trucks who will organize cleanup operations. All the rituals and utensils of a civilized disaster.

In a period of time, it will be delicious. This will become part of their history: of course a tragedy, but they can explain, classify and learn to live with it. Everything will be fine, yes, everything will be fine. Come they suddenly feel tired of sleep. They lie down where they fell, still sitting at the table, with their heads resting on their crossed arms. A nest of empty bowls and crusts surrounded them.

They don't know anything. have done nothing. It doesn't feel much.

Then thunder began.

On the earth, on the deep earth, the rhythmic pace is gradually approaching like the Titan. The woman woke up her husband. She extinguished the light and walked to the door. The night sky is shining with stars: the mountains are black on both sides.

The thunder still sounded: there was a full half minute between each roar, but now it was bigger. With each new step, the sound will be louder. The couple stood at the door together, listening to Yeshan's voice echoing back and forth. There is no thunder.

It's just the boom-boom-boom-it shakes the ground: it throws dust from the door-and shakes the window latch.

Boom-boom-They don't know what to approach, but no matter what shape it takes, what intention it takes, it doesn't seem to make sense to escape from there. The place where they stood, in the poor shelter of the hut, was as safe as any corner of the forest. When the thunder passed, how did they choose the standing tree from the 100,000 trees? Best to wait: watch.

The wife's eyes are not good. She suspects that the darkness of the mountain changes shape and lifts it to block the sight of the stars. But her husband also saw it: the huge head, bigger and vaguely visible in the darkness of deception, made the hill itself short with its ambition.

He fell on his knees, praying, his arthritic legs twisted under him.

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