Bill's father died, a week after Bill had just turned eleven.

Big Bill, a porter on the docks, had been hit by a box full of frozen fish on his left thumb and his bones were shattered like crushed peanuts.

After being hastily treated at the hospital not far from the pier, Big Bill went home to rest, but unexpectedly he developed tetanus from the wound.

Big Bill had a high fever for three days, and finally passed away talking nonsense.

A strong man in his thirties died just like that.

When watching his father's body being buried, Bill still couldn't believe that all this happened for real

He looked at his father's ashen face, feeling that he would wake up at any moment, and then laughed so that the beard on his lips turned up, and the wrinkles around the corners of his eyes spread to his cheeks, and then said, this is to tease him.

But the father did not wake up after all, and the corpse with a special smell was taken away by people.

Bill's mother left their father and son very early, and his father was a rare man among the dock workers who didn't drink, and he was very good to Bill. Their father-son relationship is very good.

When such a thing happened, Bill always felt that he should cry a lot, but the strange thing was that he couldn't cry.

This made him feel a little panic in his heart, as if one day the day was extremely long and the night went to nowhere. When this kind of thing happened, it would always make people panic.

To ease the panic, Bill did a few things.

He cleaned up the house first, according to his father's instruction and requirements. The clothes were all hung up and sorted, and the boots were polished.

His father said: Without a woman by his side, a man has to live a decent life.

Then he went to settle some personal grievances.

The Woody Brothers were a bunch of small **** from downtown, and they stuck Bill in a public toilet and beat him up once for not liking Bill.

At this time, he didn't have any timidity in his heart, so he asked the Woody brothers to settle the score. He found them on the street by himself, and directly fought with them with a wooden stick, and beat the two brothers and their two skinny followers until they were lying on the ground. on the ground,

My father said: A man must maintain his dignity.

After this battle, he was also seriously injured. One eye was swollen high, he couldn't see anything, his ears were buzzing, and when he inhaled, his chest hurt a little, and he suspected that his ribs were broken.

A few minutes after the fight, the pain finally surfaced, and he gasped for air in several places all over his body.

Although it was painful, he still couldn't cry. It was as if a doctor had injected an anesthetic in my heart, and the pain never appeared, which made people very suspicious.

He didn't want to go home yet, limping down the streets of downtown, and people who saw him didn't know what was wrong with him.

Soon, he walked near the park and saw a boy sitting quietly on a bench.

He was holding a red pen in his hand, and was holding a brown book, writing something on it. His eyes are very serious, and there is a kind of self-satisfied leisure in that kind of seriousness. Bill is very envious of people with such eyes.

Bill had seen this boy his own age, and he knew his name was Wordsworth. However, he didn't know what he was doing at the moment.

As if attracted by the quiet, comfortable atmosphere around Wordsworth, Bill sat down beside him.

"What are you doing?" Bill asked.

Wordsworth looked up from his own world and turned to see the obviously injured Bill, but he didn't look too surprised.

He turned the book in his hand towards Bill at an angle, so that he could see the beautiful lines of writing on the book: "I'm trying to write an opera script."

"Opera? A libretto?"

"Uh..." Wordsworth put the cap on his pen, "it's the story.

"I'm trying to write my own story."

"Why write a story?" Bill couldn't understand. It seems that writing stories cannot make money. If not, how can a man support himself? — Why write a story?

Wordsworth heard an interesting question, he frowned and tilted his head, showing an expression that an eleven-year-old boy would not usually show: "I don't know. It's like wanting to go for a walk on a sunny day, without too specific Reason. When I have free time, I want to write stories."

Bill had just learned how to spell the words "seagull" and "steel," and this Wordsworth was writing stories.

This had to make him feel a little admired.

"Can I read your story?" Bill asked suddenly.

Wordsworth looked startled, but soon calmed down. He looked at the lines of writing on the book, and said, "Yes. But the book is not finished yet. Shall I show you the big concept of this story?"

No one would turn down a story, Bill sniffed, and nodded.

Wordsworth patiently turned the book to the first few pages and began to speak slowly.

It's a simple story, but Wordsworth tells it brilliantly, using all the words and phrases an eleven-year-old boy knows.

The story happened in ancient times. A town surrounded by city walls was targeted by an evil dragon. The dragon guarded the outside of the city. Anyone who dared to leave the city would be eaten by him. Therefore, no one dared to leave the city.

But if this continues, no one will go out to hunt and buy things, and the people in the city will starve to death. They held a meeting and decided to send men to put on armor and take swords to kill the dragon.

This matter should be done by young people in the prime of life, but young people in the city are too busy marrying wives and having children, eating, drinking, and having fun, so they dare not go out of the city. In the end, the discussion is over.

People would rather starve to death in the city than go out and challenge the dragon for everyone.

However, some people are different from everyone.

One night, an old man who was not welcome by young people in the city put on his armor, picked up his sword, and went out of the city alone.

The old man had no family, no worries, he couldn't bear to watch the people in the city starve to death like this, so, without a warrior, he decided to be that warrior.

Choosing to set off at night is not only to avoid people's eyes and ears, but also to sneak attack while the dragon is sleeping.

The ending of the story is that after dawn, people found that the dragon was dead, and the old man in armor also died beside the dragon. He died with the dragon.

Bill realized that Wordsworth was indeed writing opera librettos. He wrote rhymes to the old hero and sang them in an aria that, though childish, was somehow uplifting.

Listening to Wordsworth telling the ending of the story, the numb soul seemed to be awakened by something, like a frozen stream suddenly flowing.

Bill's nose was sour, and a hot current surged in his heart, rushing directly to his eye sockets. Tears just flowed down.

Bill knew why he was crying: while Wordsworth was telling the story, he saw the figure of the old dragon slayer.

Although the ages did not match, the man he saw wearing armor and holding a sword was his father, Old Bill.

In this story, the father is no longer killed by hitting his toe while carrying a wooden crate of frozen fish. He died like a hero.

Bill's tears flowed on his own first, then wept bitterly, and finally he burst into tears. Tears flooded like spring rain.

After reciting the script, Wordsworth was at a loss for a moment—he didn't know that his story was so moving.

Because Bill was crying too much~lightnovelpub.net~he had to wait quietly by the side, waiting for the rain to gradually subside.

Tears were mixed with the dried blood on his face, and Bill cried so much that his face was stained. He sobbed and asked, "Why, why... this old man doesn't have a name?"

"I haven't thought of a name yet." Wordsworth knew that Bill was a "little bastard" different from himself. But what he didn't expect was that the little **** would cry like this.

After a while, Bill swallowed his saliva a few times, and said as if begging, "Can...can you let him be called Bill?"

"Bill?" Wordsworth took out a handkerchief and handed it to the fellow. "With your name?"

Bill wiped his face carelessly with his handkerchief and nodded. It's actually the same name as my dad.

Dad died, but he died a hero.

Seemingly unable to refuse such a request, Wordsworth nodded with a smile: "Okay, then call him Bill."

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