Residual Pain

The smell of the hospital's disinfectant mixed with the remaining aroma of gardenias outside the window, and the electrocardiogram stretched into a straight white line. The last thing she heard was the chirping of cicadas in the summer when she was seventeen, and the young man Mu Ze saying under the sycamore tree: "Xinxin, I will lock you forever." He did. With misunderstanding, hatred and a terminal cancer diagnosis. But she didn't know that at the same moment that the white line extended, the red wine glass in Mu Ze's hand suddenly exploded, and the glass fragments penetrated deeply into his palm, but he felt no pain at all. Because all the pain felt stopped at the moment her heartbeat disappeared.