When I picked up that alarm clock, I never thought it would kill someone.
At 12:07 in the morning, I had just finished working overtime and walked home as if my whole body had been hollowed out. The late autumn wind blew into my collar, making me shiver from the cold. There was a cardboard box under the old locust tree at the entrance of the community. It was soaked to pieces by the rain, revealing a round object.
I didn't want to worry about it, but the alarm clock was too conspicuous.
The red plastic shell and old-fashioned knob look like something from the 1980s. I squatted down, took it out, and wiped the water stains on it with my sleeve. There is a yellowed label on the back of the alarm clock, with the words "Fulu Clock" written in crooked handwriting, like that of a child.
I was quite happy at the time, thinking that I just needed an alarm clock to save me from having to get up in the morning.
I got home, took a shower, put the alarm clock on the bedside, and lay down. I was so sleepy that I couldn't even open my eyelids, and I vaguely heard a crisp "click" sound.
The alarm screen lights up.
