When I was five years old, my mother hugged me and looked into the distance, telling me to get out of the mountains. When I was thirteen years old, those hands that were not very generous took me and fled the mountains. At the age of thirty-three, burdened with the vicissitudes of the world, I returned to the mountains.
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This is my first time writing an article. I am a primary school student, so please be gentle. If there are any errors, please correct them.
It's a short story with no outline, full of bloodshed, random play, and the protagonist may be OOC.
Intention: Always seize a little light and survive in the world