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Doomsday story

Author: Forget how to live.

The first plane crashed.

Update time 2007-10-621:33: 00 words: 6558

Many years later, I still remember the old man who told my fortune, his blind eyes, yellow hair, crutches made of branches and his strange smile.

In a square not far from my school, a group of fortune tellers, male and female, gather all the year round. I never believe in such illusory things. Those people smell like philistines. You can tell at a glance that you are a liar who only smells of copper. So whenever I pass there, I head down and leave in a hurry, ignoring the greetings from those people.

Once passing by the square, a woman rushed over and took my hand and insisted on showing it to me, saying that I had been lucky recently. I tried my best to break free and was about to leave this annoying place. Suddenly a chill rose behind me and I felt someone staring at me. I looked around, and sure enough, in a corner of the square, an old man in shabby blue overalls was smiling at me, with a strange smile, mixed with confidence, and seemed to see through my future at a glance. It is a kind of pride that holds the fate of others in the palm of your hand. I couldn't help walking over, only to find that he was blind, with white eyes and yellow hair, sitting on Mazar-e with a stick in his hand.

"Help me figure it out," I told him.

The old man stretched out a hand and opened his calloused fingers.

"Fifty!" He said. Fifty dollars was not a cheap price, so I gave it to him. He took the money without touching my face or letting me draw lots. He just opened his shriveled mouth and said to me, "I'll give you a word: don't lose hope at any time!" " "

He looked like a bad liar in hindsight, but I didn't doubt it at that time, just like doing …