Homeless wind
The day I received the call from the hospital, I was practicing at the shooting range in the training camp. The midday sun baked the ground until it was scorching hot, and the sound of gunfire echoed across the open field, making my eardrums ache. Sweat streamed down my forehead, blurring my vision, but I dared not stop—the assessment was in a month, and only by achieving excellent results could I be assigned to a unit closer to home as soon as possible, and only then could I go home to see my father more often.
My phone suddenly vibrated in my pocket. The unfamiliar number made my heart skip a beat. I pressed the answer button, and a nurse's urgent voice came from the other end: "Are you a family member of Mr. Lin Jianjun? He was hit by a truck while delivering vegetables and is currently being treated at the First Municipal Hospital. His condition is critical. Please come immediately!"
The words "rescue" and "critical" struck me like two heavy hammers. Trembling, I clutched the sick leave slip the instructor had given me, my knuckles white to almost transparent. The gun in my hand fell to the ground with a "clatter," the spent cartridges rolling at my feet with a crisp sound, but it did nothing to pull me back to reality. I practically staggered out of the shooting range, ignoring the instructor's shouts behind me, clutching the sick leave slip, hailed a taxi, and rushed to the hospital.
The car sped along the road, the scenery outside the window rushing past like time I couldn't grasp. I gripped my phone tightly, my fingers turning white from the pressure, praying repeatedly in my heart: Dad, you must be alright, you must wait for me, we still want to go back to the old alley to see Grandma Xian and the others, we still want to eat Aunt Su's osmanthus cake together... Tears streamed down my face uncontrollably, blurring the car window and my last hope.
When I arrived at the hospital, the light in the emergency room was still on. I rushed to the door, grabbed a nurse who came out, and my voice trembled with fear: "Nurse, how is the person inside? He's my father, he's alright, right?" The nurse looked at me with eyes full of sympathy and gently shook her head: "I'm sorry, we did our best, but your father lost too much blood and couldn't be saved."
"Couldn't be saved"—these words pierced my heart like a sharp knife. I staggered back a few steps, bumping into the wall, the pain leaving me feeling utterly powerless. The light in the emergency room went out, and the doctor pushed out a bed covered with a white sheet. The silhouette beneath the sheet was my father, a man I knew all too well.
I walked over, my hand trembling as I reached out to lift the white sheet, yet I was afraid to see that cold face. In the end, I mustered my courage and gently lifted a corner—my father's face was still covered in dirt, the wound on his forehead was still bleeding, his eyes were tightly closed, and he would never again smile and pat my head, saying, "Zhaozhao, Dad is back."
“Dad…” I choked out, my voice barely audible, “How could you leave me all alone… We promised to come home together…” Tears streamed down my face like broken beads, falling onto my father’s cold face, but they could no longer elicit a response from him.
During the days of handling the funeral arrangements, I felt like a soulless puppet. People from the old alley came too. Ya Huan hugged me and cried, saying, "Zhao Zhao, you still have us." Rong Rong silently helped me with all sorts of chores, her eyes red. Aunt Su cooked my favorite osmanthus cake, but it never tasted as sweet as before. Grandma Xian held my hand and kept sighing, saying, "Good child, you've suffered so much." Aunt Sun also came. She didn't say anything, just silently helped me pack up my father's belongings, her eyes always red.
My father left behind very few belongings, just an old box containing my mother's photo, my certificates of merit from childhood, and things I brought from the old alley—a purse embroidered by Rongrong, a straw rabbit woven by Yahuan, and a jade pendant given to me by Grandma Xian. Touching those familiar objects, I recalled the days under the old locust tree when I was a child, the laughter and joy of our family when my mother was still alive, and my father's tireless efforts to treat my mother's illness. A wave of pain washed over me, almost drowning me.
On the day my father was buried, it started to drizzle. I stood before the tombstone, looking at his photo, feeling utterly empty. Before, no matter what difficulties I encountered, as long as I returned home and saw my father's smile, I felt fearless. But now, my home is gone, my father is gone, and I am homeless.
Returning to my empty home, I sat on the sofa where my father often sat, looking at the photos of my mother and father on the wall, my heart filled with despair. Before, I trained hard so I could protect my father and make our family better. But now, my father is gone, my home is gone, what is the meaning of all my efforts?
At night, I dug out the pot my father used to make tea eggs, wanting to try making them myself, but I realized I couldn't even control the heat. The tea eggs burned, just like my life at that moment—a complete mess. I sat on the floor, hugging the pot, and cried my heart out.
I became taciturn and often lost focus during training. Once during a combat training session, I was knocked to the ground by my opponent, and the coach scolded me for being "useless." But I wasn't angry at all. Instead, I felt that this was good. If I could just lie on the ground forever and never have to get up again, I wouldn't have to face this cruel reality.
One night, I walked to the riverbank and looked at the dark water. A thought popped into my head: If I jumped in, would I be able to see my father and mother again? Would I be free? I walked step by step towards the riverbank. The icy water was over my ankles, like countless cold hands pulling me towards the abyss.
Just then, the jade pendant around my neck suddenly poked me. I took it out and looked at the familiar patterns on it, remembering what Grandma Xian had said when she gave it to me: "This jade pendant will keep you safe. Wear it, and no matter what difficulties you encounter in the future, be brave." I also remembered my mother holding my hand before she passed away and saying, "Zhaozhao, you must live well"; I remembered the reluctance and expectation in my father's eyes when he sent me to the training camp; I remembered the people in the old alley, their warm companionship and concern.
Tears streamed down my face again as I slowly retreated to the shore. I knew I couldn't give up like this. My parents wanted me to live, and the people in the old alley were worried about me. But the pain and despair in my heart were like a giant net, trapping me tightly and making it hard to breathe.
From then on, I poured all my energy into training, practicing until I was exhausted every day, collapsing into bed as soon as I hit the pillow, so I wouldn't have to think about those painful things anymore. I was like an emotionless machine, mechanically training and being tested, only wanting to become stronger, strong enough to numb the pain in my heart.
Only in the quiet of the night do I still take out my father's photo, look at his smile, and silently shed tears. I know I have no home anymore, no longer a father who would wait for me to come home and cook me tea eggs. I am like a homeless wind, drifting alone in this cruel world, not knowing where my home is.
Occasionally, I think of the old locust tree in the alleyway, and the warm memories of my childhood. Those memories, like a faint ray of light, support me in my despair, preventing me from completely succumbing to despair. I tell myself that for my parents, for the people of the alleyway, I must live on, even if the wounds in my heart will never heal.
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