All living beings in hell

Chapter 29 - California's Rock Youth
020 Rock Youth in California

Before the NO.20 guests arrived, I gave myself a two-day vacation, and the two-day vacation did not stop.The sound of knocking on the door came from hell from time to time, and there was a great momentum to break the door.I have encountered irritable guests before, and each of them took a lot of effort (and sometimes had to suffer a little) to deal with it.

The sound of slamming the door made me restless, and it was time for me to bite the bullet first and talk later.

The time is up, I open my arms and leap into hell.

The lotus lantern at the entrance was lit up, and the office welcomed No.20 guests.

The moment the door lock loosened slightly, the door finally slammed loudly, and the back of the door slammed into the wall hard, which made me a little worried about the safety of the wall.

A puff of black air drifted in from outside the door, like the smell of a high-powered sports car slamming on the accelerator to let off the exhaust.

"Master Writer, you are here." The guest's voice was like a loach stuck in his throat, his words were unclear but too slippery.

"Please come in." I spread my pen and ink and sat behind the wooden table.

The sound of machinery sounded, every step of the guest brought the sound of hydraulics and rollers operating, the sound of metallic footsteps approached me step by step, and the smell of gasoline became stronger and stronger.

When the guest got close enough, I saw it clearly—the mechanical sound came from his legs.This is a pair of mechanical legs made entirely of precision metal, with a beautiful bronze color.There are actually two exhaust pipes on the calf, presumably the choking gasoline smell comes from here.

The upper body of the guest is still a human body, wearing a gray beach vest printed with a rock band in the 70s, beach sunglasses, and an orange and green Mohawk hairstyle (Mohawk).

"But wait for me, wait for me!" The rock-and-roll guest spread his legs and straddled the wooden chair, and the exhaust pipe on his calf blew out a few more mouthfuls of exhaust gas.

"Hello, what should I call you?"

"Randle." The guest said, touching his comb-like hair, "From California but I fucking love New York man! (I'm from California, but I fucking love New York!)"

I wrote his name on the rice paper: "Okay, Randle, what are you looking for today?"

"Rock and roll is dead! Freedom is here!" Randle suddenly stretched out a rock and roll gesture in the air, and there was a bass strum from nowhere, and this guy actually had sound effects when speaking.

"Okay, so why are you looking for me today?"

"I want to resurrect rock!" Another bass strum.

"How do you plan to revive rock and roll?" I froze for a moment, but decided to follow the trend.

"First of all, I need to get out of this damn place, you can't write good music in hell!"

"Okay, how are you going to leave?"

"With my passion and free soul!" With one stroke of the rock gesture, as expected, the bass strums.

I looked at the rock fanatic in front of me, thought for a while, and poured myself a cup of hot tea: "What do you want to drink? I have bitter tea and cloud wine."

"I don't need anything! I don't need anything! Dude, all I need is music and love! Rock&Roll!" The bass strummed.

I took a sip of my tea: "Well, Randle, how did you end up in hell?"

"To create really good music!"

"Why does it take hell to make really good music?"

"There is real pain in hell! Only real pain can bring true liberation! Liberation is freedom!"

"Then have you found real relief?"

Randle moved his legs, and every time he moved, there was exhaust: "Not yet! But I know I have to go! I can't find what I want here!"

"So what do you want to find?"

"I said it before! Real pain! Otherwise I wouldn't be able to write good music!"

"And where do you think you can experience real pain?"

"I don't know, the world, right? Go back and try again."

"Okay, you can go. Go."

"Wait, Master Writer! Is this the end?"

"Well, you know what you want and where you want to go next, it's very clear, isn't that good?"

"But I don't know how to write really good music!"

"I don't know, I don't know how to write music." I answered truthfully.

Randle looked at me questioningly, crossing his legs again.I finally couldn't hold it back, and coughed as I was choked by the heavy exhaust.

"My lord," Randle's voice changed from the exaggerated before, and suddenly became deep, "The real purpose of my coming to you today is to experience pain."

"I don't know how to help you experience the pain, sorry. My duty is just to write notes."

"I heard other ghosts say that you are a mortal living in pain, and I want to understand your pain."

"First of all, this involves my personal affairs and breaks the rules. Second, the matter of pain is very subjective. Others may feel that I am suffering, but I enjoy it."

"How can you be miserable and have fun at the same time?" Randle asked.

"Randle, how did you end up in hell?" I asked again.

Randle's eyes dimmed, he rested his elbows on his knees, and rubbed his palms against the short shaved hair on his head: "When I was alive... it was painful too..."

I picked up the pen again: "Why is it painful?"

"I...I love my girlfriend dearly, but I ended up...I went crazy...I killed...killed her...and our...kid...the baby in her belly..." Randle The voice began to become intermittent, and the loach in the throat seemed to be struggling.

"and then?"

"Kill them...I'm so sorry...I'm such a fucking person...I'm a fucking terrible person....I'm nothing..." Randle started whimpering Choked up, "I can't bear this torture, I can't bear it."

Randle suddenly looked up at me, his face was full of tears, he slowly raised his right hand, made a gesture of a gun, pressed it against his temple, and murmured softly: "Boom."

He suddenly started laughing, laughing loudly, and the exhaust pipe on his calf began to increase displacement as he laughed.

I took out a handkerchief from my sleeve and covered my mouth and nose, but my eyes still felt uncomfortable.

"Hahahahaha, my lord! I'm dead! I'm going to this damn hell! I deserve it! I deserve it!"

"So you didn't come to hell to create music, you came to hell because you killed your lover and child." I repeated what I just heard.

"Yeah, what, am I a fucking lunatic? (Am I a fucking lunatic?)"

"I don't know, do you think you are?"

"Everyone says I'm crazy, and my girlfriend says I'm crazy too, hahahaha, I'm a fucking lunatic!"

"If you didn't come to hell for creation, then you won't return to the world for creation. What are you going to do next?"

Randle put his legs aside, and the exhaust situation didn't get any better: "I don't know, for me, I don't have any plans to start over."

"Okay, so is there anything else to do today?" My eyes were so smoked that I was about to cry, and I was already planning to see off the guests.

"Yes! I haven't finished yet!" Randle suddenly put his hands on the table, stood up halfway, and approached me, "Teach me, my lord."

"Teach you what?"

"Teach me how to be miserable and still be sane."

"Why are you so obsessed with pursuing pain?"

"Pain grows, doesn't it?"

"In some ways, yes."

"Then what's wrong with pursuing pain!"

"It's not a question of good or bad. Pain itself is pain, and has nothing to do with growth. Only when you accept the pain, revive yourself from the state of dying pain, and learn the message behind the pain, this is growth. Otherwise it's just It’s just pain in vain.”

Randle's emotions suddenly became agitated, his eyes were red: "So, so you mean! All the pain I have experienced before is invalid!"

"I didn't say that," the sapphire pen in my hand suddenly extended and pressed against his shoulder. Under the weight of the sapphire pen, Randle slowly sat back on the chair, "Please sit down, sometimes patience and listening are also important."

Randle was afraid of the green light of the sapphire pen, and when it touched his shoulder like a branding iron, he let out an "ah".This howl also has the uninhibitedness of rock and roll.

I continued, "You are in this hell now, aren't you? The previous pain is over, and all you can do now is to be aware of what you are suffering right now."

"I...I blame myself...my mental instability made me kill my loved ones."

"Okay, accept all the pain this self-blame brings."

"I...I can't do it...I don't know what acceptance is."

"Don't resist. Do it and take it."

"I...I won't..."

"Study." I looked at him fixedly.

"How... how to learn?"

"Study." I repeated.

Randle stopped talking, his eyes were a little uncertain, his hands were clasped together, and the shavings of his nails fell to the ground.The exhaust gas is a little lighter, at least the eyes are not as painful as before.

"My lord...the last...the last question."

"ask."

"Accept the pain... I... can I learn in hell?" The muddy fish in Randle's throat was gone, and the oiliness finally faded.

"Yes. Not only hell, but also the world, heaven, and any corner of the universe. It has nothing to do with the environment," I pointed at his heart with a sapphire pen, and a green light floated like a ribbon Passed over, floating on his chest, "The key is up to you. The problems in my heart can only be solved by myself, and no one can do it for me."

Randle got up and slowly lowered his hands from the table: "I see."

"Know what?" I asked.

"I have to learn."

Randle suddenly raised his head and smiled at me: "Rock&Roll! Writer! It's also for freedom!" He made a rock gesture, this time without bass chords.

"Yes, for freedom."

Randle turned and walked towards the door, laughing. "For freedom!" he yelled.

"For freedom." I silently replied.

The door of the office opened, and Randle stood at the door, finally turning his head to look at me: "For freedom, my lord."

"Goodbye." I said.

"Goodbye," Randle said.

(End of this chapter)