Six Thematic Essay

August 26, 2017 ? Saturday Weather Windy

I was a butcher, my hand rose, a splash of blood, and a sheep's head fell to the ground.

"Cooking sheep and slaughtering cows and for pleasure, will have to drink 300 cups." I am addicted to alcohol, a drunkard, every night, I always go to the street tavern to get drunk, and then return home to fall asleep, nothing to think about.

Then the next day I would go to the slaughterhouse and get my hands dirty. I have a habit of always taking a sip of wine before slaughtering a goat, and while the spiciness is still fresh, I raise my knife, drop it, and kill it with a single stroke.

My skill in slaughtering sheep is known far and wide, and under me, there is no sheep that has survived more than one cut, so people give me the nickname: one cut.

I am a butcher, but only slaughter sheep, sheep gentle and quiet, slaughter sheep I can handle. Sheep are not as wailing as pigs when they die, nor are they as strong as cows.

This year is my 15th year as a butcher, and I have killed countless sheep under my hands, and I have piled up the heads of the sheep, which is as high as a mountain, as high as the mountain of yellow earth in my hometown.

I started slaughtering sheep when I was 20 years old, taking over the trade from my father, who was also a butcher, but he slaughtered pigs.

That day, it was the night of the full moon on the 15th of August, I took over the oiled, black and shiny pig knife from him, and opened the meat with a fat pig on the case, which was considered to be a formal entry into the business.

That was my first time to kill, the pig is very uncooperative, my hand is also slightly trembling. My hand was shaking slightly. Next to me, my father was still teaching me the secrets of butchery: fast, accurate, and ruthless.

The pig kept struggling and squealing, and a few of my uncles couldn't hold it down, and the rope was about to be broken. I simply do not have the heart to listen to my father's words, eyes closed, aimed at the neck of a knife stuck in, a wave of heat in the face, blood splashed my face.

I opened my eyes, and through the pig's blood that covered my face, I saw my dad and uncle smiling slightly, with expressions of appreciation on their faces.

"Good boy, remember, don't think too much when you kill a pig, it's only a good butcher who kills with one cut."

"It's okay, once you're alive, twice you're familiar, this knife is slowly used with ease."

I didn't say anything, and the knife banged down on the floor.

I ran back to the house, stood in front of the mirror and looked at my own this side of the human not a ghost not a ghost appearance, face pig blood is still dripping down.

That night I could not sleep for a long time, lying in bed and tossing and turning. The moon was full outside the window, cool as water, sprinkled on my face, cool, wiped out the hot pig blood.

The pig stared, limbs stomping, fangs angrily biting appearance, still in front of my eyes, lingering. When I go into my dreams, they are full of the pig's squeals, which resonate throughout the village.

After that night, I knew I could never go back. I killed not only a pig, but also 20-year-old me. Once you have blood on your hands, you can never wash it off.

The next day I went to the mouth of the village of Uncle Li's house to play a large pot of wine, and then nestled in the mountain nest, slept for a day and a night. That night I had no nightmares.

Since then, I have fallen in love with drinking, a bottle of down, to eliminate worry and relieve boredom, two bottles of down, better than the gods, three bottles of down, beyond the world.

The next morning, woke me up a boar, it grunted in my hole, mouth bare boss, eyes red like blood, staring at me, like the one I killed the night before.

Too late, I lifted a rock from my feet and smashed it hard into its head, and immediately blood flowed, and the behemoth fell over.

I pushed it out with all my strength. The sun was shining outside, and yesterday as well as today was like a dream, a dream within a dream, and I was a passer-by.

After that, I started butchering for a living and never looked back. Only later I have not dared to kill pigs, only kill sheep. After that, every year on August 15, I kill the sheep to sacrifice to the sky, it is by my main knife.

I love winter, winter, the rural people hoarded a year of fat pig fat sheep will become a dish, people often shouted at me to kill sheep, yes, I only dare to kill sheep.

At first, I was a little rusty, and then I killed more, so I was familiar with it. I know how to use the knife can alleviate the pain of the sheep, I know where the blood spurt in the neck, I know how to avoid blood splashed on the face, I know a few minutes into the blood of the sheep can flow dry, I know how many ribs, how many spine of a sheep, I know how much blood color of the flesh below the cover of the bone where the cracks, so I peeled the skin and picking the bones is always a knife and meat fall, three times, rather have a butcher to solve the problem of the cow. I'm not sure if I'm going to be able to do that.

Although the money given to each family to kill the sheep is not much, but also enough to eat my mouth full of oil. Moreover, they also want to give me sheep head, sheep hooves, haggis, etc., eat my fat body thick, than the original fat circle.

Such a life, although plain, but also comfortable.

This is the first time I've seen the world's most popular movie, and it's been a long time coming.

But the good times didn't last long, and then there were fewer and fewer people in the village, and no one was raising sheep, so I almost lost my job.

Later, I also thought of changing my occupation, after all, this hand stained with blood thing is too conscience. Especially in the mid-autumn of the year before last, my second uncle killed a pig when the pig was knocked flying knife, stuck in the chest, died. This eventful year!

After that, I went to the city to play half a year of labor, but every day half dead tired, get up earlier than the chicken, sleep later than the dog. In the construction site everywhere in the eyes of people, by people spit on, I remember the end of that year when I went home almost not even enough money for the road, but also walked eight miles of snow before returning home, home when the feet have been frozen no feeling.

It's not that I don't want to do something else, but when I was young, I only learned the art of killing sheep, and that's all I could do for the rest of my life.

Grandma, this world, I think it's better to kill the sheep to make money fast, hand up and down the knife between the wine and food, a sleep and wake up between the carefree. The first thing I want to do is to get back to my old job of killing sheep.

Later, in the spring, I heard the second black said that the slaughterhouse in the city is in need of butchers, and suggested that I go to try, so I held the mindset of trying to go.

The city's abattoirs are numerous, and I didn't realize that with the sheep-killing skills I've developed over the years in the countryside, I'd soon be able to get my feet wet in a large abattoir in the north of the city.

I killed the sheep's kung fu is good, those sheep dealers and I also good friendship, are called my life "knife brother", so they have sheep is always the first time to transport to me here, because I am righteous, the price is good to discuss.

I'm too lazy and they are calculating, after all, here in a month to earn money on the site I do half a year. The first thing I'd like to do is to get the best out of the world, and I'd like to be able to do that.

Every day I killed countless sheep, if each sheep pull a hair, I have killed the wool of the sheep are enough to floss several beds of wedding quilt.

Over the past fifteen years, I've seen countless sheep, rams, goats, sheep, pregnant ewes, dying sick sheep, and rich people's meat lambs. ......

Those sheep, I only look at a glance, a touch on the spine, we know how many pounds, no need to pick bones and skin.

Fifteen years, I understand more and more sheep heart, a small group of bright red beating, soft blowing breakable. It is not as secretive as the human heart.

Fifteen years, I am full of grease, blood dry on my clothes, layer after layer, but some historical thickness, I sneered.

Every day after I killed the sheep will be bleeding and skinning, picking meat and bones, digging heart and fat, gutting and digging, fading sheep's head and prairie wool, and finally pushed the cart to the garbage point to dump the residue of these shits and pisses, a series of actions in one go.

The green head flies climbed all over my cart, my body, the smell of sheep dung and mutton attracted them bursts of confusion, crazy rutting, buzzing and screaming, how can not drive away.

Sometimes sheep dung sprayed a face, sometimes sheep urine shot all over, sometimes sheep blood splashed all over, but I do not care, my pocket is full enough.

My hands, covered in blood, year after year. So much so that now I have a smell of sheep on my body, which can be smelled from a distance, and how can I wash it off, and over time, the smell has gone to my bones and soul.

I have also been injured, once a ram in order to protect a ewe, a horn against my face, knocked me to the ground, my face blood flow.

But it doesn't matter, I got up and killed it with a knife. A sheep, can it fight a man? Joke. I was also a little embarrassed that sheep can be so sentimental, and people?

The sheep died, but after that my face left a scar, very conspicuous. The first time I saw this, I was able to see it in the back of my head, and I was able to see it in the back of my head.

I kill sheep career, encountered some of the sheep screamed harshly, miserable like a long whistling, and then died; some sheep to the death are not resting in peace, a pair of copper Ling-like eyes staring at me; there are also some sheep in the eyes of the tears swiftly straight down, dripping in my hands, or hot.

Do I feel sorry for them?

Do I feel sorry for them?

It is a very important thing for me to know that I am not the only one who has a job to do, and that I am not the only one who has a job to do.

Besides, sheep, animals, is not for people to serve, can contribute to the people of their flesh and blood, is their honor, this is their innate mission.

In the past fifteen years, I have been drinking too much wine, and every night I have to go to the street tavern to get drunk, I am afraid of the dark. I was afraid of the darkness. A night alone was like a walking corpse with its soul sucked out, and without the paralyzing effect of alcohol, I could not survive.

Sometimes I also dream, dreaming of those born sheep dead sheep lonely ghosts haunting me out of breath, I was so scared that I sat up from the bed, all in a cold sweat, smoking a cigarette, and could not sleep anymore.

But I know that once the day breaks, such a life, tomorrow I have to continue, I can not be merciful. Butcher is my profession, if I am merciful, I can not survive.

In order to survive, I had to shut down my humanity, like a vampire, and I am almost a vampire. So much goat's blood, there's a river in a row, I think.

Heaven is not kind, life is not kind, and neither is my heart.

In the past fifteen years, I have also been criticized twice, and people have called me heartless, cruel, and bloody. When they pass by, they always have to look at me and spit on me, and I am as gray as a street rat.

Oh no, to say that no one likes me is not accurate, the garbage point that a few wild dogs but my loyal fans. Every day they wait for me in squatting shifts, and they are never absent in the wind and rain.

I was a bit touched, I thought we were friends, wandering in the city, homeless.

I suddenly thought of the lyrics in Carrot Whiskers: "The stage of youth comes and goes, and a lot of people are like dogs and dogs".

Well, it's not surprising that although I'm no longer young, my heart is still young, and I still love the pop songs that young people love.

The world hates me, I know. They dislike me for being dirty, say I have no humanity, and call me a vampire, I know all that, and I admit it. But what about them, are they so much more noble than me?

You do not see, restaurants, banquets on the people of the wind rolled up clouds like gluttony a sheep, or steamed, or braised, or hand handle, or stewed or stewed, or barbecue, patterned ...... One by one, they ate with their mouths full of oil, eyes shining, sweating profusely, and legs high up.

If we say that we butchers are scorned, what about these meat-loving gourmets, are they the superior ones, do they deserve respect?

We are only butchers, taking lives, and they are executioners, paying for lives.

If it weren't for their mouths to feed on, how could we be as ruthless as we are? It is ridiculous to say that the butcher is inhumane one second, and the next they are putting mutton on the table.

In this way, they are just some hypocrites, not much more noble than us.

In this way, my conscience is not so guilty, kill the sheep to be more comfortable, I also love this occupation.

It is worth mentioning that in September last year, I met my wife, Pang, who has been widowed for five years and has no children.

And I married, not a month, she was pregnant with great joy, my parents received her to the countryside to raise the baby.

After she left, I still have to drink a lot of wine, drunk every day, and more and more, even in the morning have to drink a cup.

Recently, my efficiency has been much higher, and the sheep slaughtering technique is more unique, killing sheep like hemp. Because the boss said, wait until the 15th of August, will give me a day off. At that time, I can go back to my hometown and slaughter sheep on the night of the full moon to sacrifice to my ancestors.

Although the city of jinshang is happy, it is better to return home early.

When I think about it, I feel much better and I have something to look forward to every day.

That night I had a dream, in which I went back to my childhood, I led the sheep to eat grass on the grass and walk, from time to time there was a burst of laughter, these scenes have been in the brain lingering.

I asked Chow Kung what this dream meant, and he replied: It can be solved only on the night of the full moon.

I finally got to the 15th of August, and packed my bag and went back to my hometown. I think, after killing this sheep will be gold, good with the wife and children to live, these years I saved the money is enough to live the rest of our family.

The night was windless, the moon was full and the flowers were good, and the cases had been prepared for me.

I once again picked up my father gifted me the ageless treasure knife, drink a mouthful of wine, hand up, knife down, a knife to death, the knife on the drop of blood did not stain, fast, accurate, ruthless as me.

I think, this clean and sharp knife will make my father jaw-dropping, surprised, sighing successor.

Suddenly my wife's screams came out of the house, resounding.

I ran to the house and saw her lying on the ground, bleeding, with a knife stuck in her chest.

"Retribution." That was all my mother said, and then she pulled out the knife and killed herself and went with my wife.

There are still a few drops of warm tears on my hand from that sheep. It felt like the pig's blood that splattered on my face when I was 20 years old.

Later, I dissected the sheep, and when I opened it up, I found a molded lamb in its belly, which actually had a human form.

On August 16th, I buried my wife and mother in the mountain of loess, where the bones of the sheep were all over the place, and I have not killed any sheep since then.

Attachment: A piece written at this time last year, "Born as a human being, I'm sorry". This is from the perspective of a bystander, and the two may echo each other.