[Third person in the text]
The moment I boarded the ship, I felt something was wrong.
The staff at the security checkpoint smiled and took away everyone's mobile phones. "We need to change to stronger signal cards and return them tomorrow morning," they said.
No one cares.
The four thousand passengers were all excitedly taking photos, checking in, and chatting - and on the cell phones of twelve of us, the last message was sent by the group leader and contained only three words.
"Something's wrong."
Then he died.
The next morning the radio said he had suffered a heart attack. On the TV screen, his ID photo was placed next to the body bag.
Nineteen years old, wearing glasses, a bit bookish.
I stared at that photo with only one question in my mind -
What did he see when he sent that message yesterday afternoon?
…
The ship has gone to sea.
No signal, no way out.
Four thousand people. Twelve group friends. A dead man.
The corridor got longer. The clock is running slow. In the mirror, my movements are half a beat slower than mine.
Four thousand people were on this boat.
I don't know which ones are still human.
.
Purpose: I hope that even if we have differences, we will reach the same goal through different paths.
