PEAR & PEAR & PEAR

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我以前很少做有熟人参加的梦，大概是因为我并没有很多熟人。但是某一天开始我做起了这些活生生的梦，因为相当的平淡无奇，然而这平淡无奇里总是夹杂着许多不快，大概是与这许多熟人的交往过程中我常常不快。当我想起的时候，突然哀叹起生活的空洞乏味起来了。毕竟追根溯源地讲，这些人的想法和我又有什么关系呢？我在迷失自我。我开始怀念过去的梦。

我最近常常梦到田野。这是一片种着水稻的单调而整齐的绿色田野。头顶上是没有一朵云，没有一点颜色的天空，象一张半透明的白纸一样突兀地悬挂在那里，空荡荡的，或是浸了水，随时都能被戳破一般。这一张浸了水的白纸就那样纹丝不动地悬挂在空中，只有偶尔细微的风拂过绿色的田野，水稻田中浮现出一缕缕水纹般的褶皱，才证实了这并非一个静止或凝固了的世界。偶尔天阴起来，便有一丝寒意。偶尔刮起干燥的风，阳光洒下来，就象7月早晨的乡村天空。两年前我在乡村度过了一整个暑假，常常看到这样白茫茫空荡荡的天空。后来我拍了一张照，亦是这样白茫茫空荡荡的天空。这相比城市里漫天的浮尘应该算是不错的视觉待遇了。但这只是一片温暖的春天的田野。我梦里常常出现的布景。

在细微的风里，出现了些须琐碎的对话。在场的人有YC，CY，我，B，ZWX，都是学校里平常的样子。还有另两张脸，我不记得了。我猜其中之一会是Bill，因为他总是和B出现在一起。至于后四个人，我实在不清楚为什么他们会出现在这里，一如既往地紧凑在一起有说有笑的，在这片空旷的、象一个流放地一般荒渺的田野边说笑，就象坐在教室后排的那些拥挤而零乱的座位上一样说笑。我此时看他们，也确实象从教室第一排望最后一排的情形。一切都根往常一样。毕竟这只是做梦而已。
他们手里都拿着纸笔，于是我知道接下来会发生什么了。我想他们大概只是来陪衬的，虽然我想象不出在这流放地一般荒渺的绿油油的田野边有什么陪衬的需要。但显然，这是惯例了。我，YC和CY大概是在赶一份要紧的任务，内容是即兴作诗。我想这对我来说是荒唐的一件事，因为我根本不会。过了一会，天空里刮起了干燥的风，这是春天的温暖的风，和煦的阳光洒下来，满眼起伏的绿色。春天的风常常让人迷失在半梦半醒的惬意中，正如我所做的一样。过了几分钟，YC宣布她的诗做好了，于是开始慷慨激昂地朗诵，而我便深深地陷入了语音和韵律的愉悦之中。少顷CY的也好了，我感觉略微次一点。然后他们就不约而同地看向我。我说过了，这是即兴的，何况我又根本不会作诗。我从头到尾一直沉浸在这一片柔和的暖意中，哪里还想到什么作诗，何况我根本不会作诗。于是我觉得我的脑子里就象头顶的天空一样白而空荡荡地悬挂在那里，麻木地等待时间的流逝。后来，那四个人也拿起笔叽里咕噜地有说有笑的。太阳随即出来了。

后来，场景便换了。依然是这一片田野，但是被野火烧得地狱一般焦黑，泥水在脚底翻腾着，这已经不是一片田野了，这是一片地狱的沼泽。恶鬼们一个个追随着我的脚步蹿出泥潭伸开双爪缠住我的双脚，仿佛每一步都象惊动了泥淖深处的恶鬼一样。我不得不奔命一样在这烧焦了的田野中飞跑，我似乎是想要救下远处的什么东西似的，因为我记得一触到那东西我就开始往回奔，奔回田野的边缘，奔回实实在在的大地。后来我奔出了梦魇一般的沼泽，于是我开始象其中扔浸了油点上火的稻草球，然后看着那些长的和魔戒里那只疯癫的precious一样的小恶鬼们用双爪蒙起眼睛惨叫。这给予了我无限的快感。那是阴雨绵绵的天气，满眼只是阴沉的天空和翻滚着的黑色泥沼。

但我不是一开始就在那片沼泽的。我从一栋教学楼里出来，手里拽着一张被细雨淋湿了的成绩单，尤其好笑的是上面似乎数学60，物理35，和一叠化学考卷。化学我向来似乎并不怎么在意，于是便没有分数，但是我却拿着一叠考卷。之前我还看到坐在后面的T神情紧张地问我物理是否批错了，因为她得了50。但我知道那是不存在的。T的出现只是一个幻象，我用来欺骗自我麻木感官的幻象，事实上他们都不存在，唯一存在的便是那阴沉的冷雨和黑色的沼泽。我从那栋教学楼里走出来，坐上了一块木板和一根木棍搭起的滑车，饶着潮湿而陡峭的山路盘旋而下，泥水溅了我一身，转弯处就用棍子费力地顶，使其不至于撞翻。然后我便来到了那片沼泽。

我真是庆幸我终于告别了那些该死的分数。可是我真的告别了吗？我想我是恐慌的，我觉得自己就象一个为了隐瞒罪恶而杀掉知情者的杀人犯，被我所杀的那些，他们死去的鬼魂常常在梦里骚扰着良知，他们在夜深人静的时候来到活人的世界向罪犯复仇，抠住我的脖子，在濒临窒息之际忽魂悸以魄动，恍惊起而长嗟。

若干时日过去，炎热的太阳再度重现。这时空气变得十分干燥闷热。时分到了酷暑。我正离田野越来越远。空气变得昏黄而浮动，越来越热，象是沙漠中的景致一般。而我确实也到了一片沙漠一般的所在。渺无人烟的地方，只有稀疏的仓库和砖房。我疲惫地走着，踢起漫天昏黄的尘土。我身无分文地走着，最后一块钱已经因为坐错了公交车而花掉了，我还在车里的时候，眼见着乘客越来越稀少，渐渐地感到了一股荒芜。后来那辆破烂肮脏的车也抛下我走了。我不知道身在何处。这是一个酷暑的午后。我在一个荒凉的小镇上行走着，身无分文，踢起阵阵尘土。终于我找到了一处拉开了一点点卷帘门的人家，一个乡村老太太给了我一碗水喝。她的脸从阴暗的屋内看出来，有一些光屁股的小孩乱跑。有一口井。水很凉。喝罢我上路了，我想起了那片田野。后来我或许又到了田野，依然是绿油油的一片水稻，湿润的微风轻拂着。

我醒来了。这一切都显得空洞乏味起来。

我拉了三天的肚子。这期间我开始看the catcher in the rye. I guess I kinda like it, though I can hardly tell why. It is trifling but fun, so I could read it through without impatient pause. I didn't actually read it through, and am still on it in the morning, and something makes me curious, which is quite often observed through personal experience, that is, whatever I am reading, I kinda tend to speak and write in the same tone with that writer, whoever he or she is, which is exactly what I am doing now, since I guess all I did throughout this sheet was beating around the bush, repeating some trifling stuff like JD did, such as those boring dreams I had had for the past few days, yet not as appealing, certainly. Yet there might be another reason, that I AM myself as trifling as Holton is.

Still, there must be something to which the source of the dreams attribute. Horror, for sure, is resulted from this dullness of life. It's a new phase in my 17years' life, certainly, for instance, I should have been at school, no matter what circumstances I'm in, no matter it's a diarrhoea or something else, I shall be at school, worrying about papers and figures and keeping rushing to the toilet thrice a day, bearing the torturing pain in my stomach, ect, instead of staying at home and typing nonsense. It's so different, but it's terrible. I'm terrible for this uncertainty, terrible for things against the doctrine instilled into me for the past years, that we must endure the pain, follow the routine, go to school, fail in exams, cut ourselves, overtake caffeate, stay up till midnight, and so on. All in all, it is the pain that was directing life, and everthing seemed so explicit and within  reach. Without this pain and the hasty resulted from it, a hole, a wild field of vacance appeared and cut off the trace. Motivation is fading away, and all I got is this dullness, and the horror resulted from it. I suddenly find myself lost in the mist of uncertainties.

In addition to this sudden suspense, there's one more thing that annoys. I didn't end up well, I mean the ending test. Satisfaction has been far away from me for so long, yet nothing miraculous finally occured to me. For this I should never have been surprised. I deserved it. It's tormenting me, yet I deserved it. I always know that, but all I did was to keep myself blind. This is really an embarassing ending, in this way nearly a decade ended up with such an embarrasing tail, which is absolutly humiliation. I deserved it. It reminds me of the guy in that movie, Requiem Of the Dreams, who had his mind back to childhood, when he was a little kid running to his mother, whispering 'I'm gonna be Someone in future', and when his mother smiled and shifted hime him onto her laps, 'U don't need to be someone, u just need to be mama's good boy.' But eventually, he was even unable to fulfil that slightest promise. It's such horror when dream crashes. It's doleful.

I could hardly figure out why I show this bias to a book which I hardly regard as a good one. Holton always said, I wish I were dead now. And I do wish for death sometimes, except for all the sufferings during the process. That does make sense, sometimes, since u can't be someone, and u can bring this world neither good nor evil, it's no big difference whether u do exist or not. Some one else's gonna take your place, always. There never lacks ordinary people anywhere. Happiness or hope, they are just some beautiful excuses people made up to make their life less dull, or at least make it seem less dull. Influence speaks.

I'm finishing Jane Eyre. Besides the classic lines, there is another paragraph I like. 'I care for myself. The more solitary, the more friendless, the more unsutstained I am, the more I will respect myself.' This was doubtless truth for me. At this moment I begin to miss those days.