Everyone's life is a myth, written by the gods himself. danish fairy tale writer andersen Chapter One Imprisoned alone. voluntarily. For many days after the funeral, I did almost nothing after getting up every day, but sat heavily at the desk for a long time, thinking about killing myself.The receiver was picked up from the phone, the fax machine was off the line, all the doors to the outside were locked and barred, and yet there was still a seemingly endless stream of traffic slowly driving up the circular road outside my door every day. The driveway, and then there was always a death knell doorbell, and it didn't stop until I finally snapped some wires.The last thing I need are condolences from friends and neighbors.

How special the past seventeen years have been.Full of hard work, rewards, love, joy, victories, achievements, laughter, and even tears too.There were so many precious moments in those years, such a long journey, made of brilliant, unforgettable experiences, but now, my fortieth birthday has not yet come, and suddenly, life is not worth it anymore survived. Occasionally I would force myself to leave my desk, stand up, and move slowly around the room, pausing to look at each framed family photo on the wall.The good times and special occasions are still vivid in every frame, and I can almost hear the noise and laughter.Didn't Lord Byron write that you can see farther through tears than through a telescope?

I turned the wooden high-back swivel chair slightly to the right, stretched my hand down to the bottom drawer of the large oak table, hooked the handle and pulled it, and the drawer quietly slid open.In the drawer was a sorted phone book and several seed catalogs, and on top of these was a dark . Well, it took me a long time to find this gun, used, I bought it when I was living in Santa Clara in response to the theft, about ten years ago.Next to the classic pistol lay a whole box of magazines, full of bullets.I hated guns, never liked them in my life, and since three test shots in the basement of a gun store in San Jose, I haven't let one of the nasty things fire.Now I set this deadly instrument on my desk calendar, staring at it, running my fingers slowly across its surface.On the flat side of the barrel, just above the trigger, there was a small image of a man standing on a horse, and the standard Colt automatic, caliber .45.

I picked up the muzzle of the gun between my thumb and forefinger and looked into the barrel, and though I was distracted, a name crossed my self-pitying mind, and it confused me even more.hemingway.God!The ghost that haunts my childhood!When I was ten, I discovered Hemingway in the library, and that summer I devoured every Hemingway I could find.Just after I watched "Battlefield Bells" for the second time, I made up my mind that when I grow up, I will become a writer, a famous writer, and explore all over the world like Hemingway.What a wonderful life that would be!Later, my hero disappointed me.One day in 1961, he put a shotgun to his head, pulled the trigger, and ended his life.This is very difficult for me to accept.Why would anyone be stupid enough to do such a thing?Why?I asked adults, but no one could give me a reasonable answer.Why?Why?What kind of thing can make a person end his life, especially a tall, strong, and alert person like him who has too many reasons to live?I leaned forward, peered down the barrel again, and shook my head with tears in my eyes.Mr. Hemingway, please forgive me for criticizing you and thinking that you were foolish and committed suicide.Please forgive me.

I turned away from the gun and looked out of the view window directly behind the desk.Below the windows is a wide deck that extends across the back of the new Cape Cod house.Acres of dark green lawn stretched out from the terrace to a gently rising gentle slope, dotted with white ottomans, a playground for throwing horseshoes, a cedar picnic table and several A bench chair; and two six-foot golf flagpoles with red practice flags flying about 130 yards apart so I could practice my swing with short irons.At the far end of the lawn was a long row of newly planted wax hedges, and beyond that was a meadow with several large granite boulders, tall blueberry bushes, and a small pond full of chattering green frogs.Behind the prairie there was a stone wall and a thin forest of pines, birches, maples, and a few ash trees, extending to my right and left as far as I could see.The rain suddenly started to fall, splashing against the window, and the landscape before my eyes spread, until the world outside the view window looked more like a Monet painting.These forty-four acres of land can be described as paradise on earth.Sally and I fell in love with the house and surrounding grounds at first sight, and we bought it the day the agent showed us it.

sally I'm sitting exactly where I was sitting that Saturday.It was only a month ago, when Sally came into the study, came to my table and hugged me.How is it, the hero of the hometown, she asked proudly, are you ready to meet the folks and elders? I'm not ready yet, and I'm nervous.Honey, I haven't seen most of them in years.I couldn't believe that this ancient town would welcome me in such a big way. Why not?John.Harding, the people of Bran are proud of you.Your mother and your father have lived here all their lives.You were born and educated in the town, played basketball, soccer, baseball in middle school, served as student body president your senior year, went to college, and became an All-American baseball player.Now you are back here again, exactly 20 years away from home, you moved back to your hometown to settle down, now you are the No. Influential company one mile.And besides you are so young!Why shouldn't the folks and elders praise you?In this crazy world we live in, where worthy heroes are getting harder and harder to find, Brantown and New Hampshire have 100% every right to honor you and what you've accomplished in this lifetime.Many of the folks who have seen you on Good Morning America or Today, read about you in Time Magazine over the past few weeks, can't wait to see you in person, especially The folks who knew your parents and only remember what you looked like when you were a child.I was talking to Mrs. Delany at the post office in town this morning, and she told me that since the last Apollo 14 mission commander, AaronSince Sheppard came to this town from Derry City for a short stay and ate his first dinner after becoming the first astronaut in the United States, the whole town has never seen such a commotion. That was thirty years ago. Woolen cloth!

Life in New Hampshire was new for Sally, a native Texan.Both she and I landed jobs through campus recruiting for a company in Los Altos, Northern California, that made portable accounting and adding machines.We got married three months after we met.This is the wisest decision of my life.In the following years, I kept changing employers during the process of continuous promotion. For this reason, we packed and unpacked simple furniture and clothes about six or seven times, and moved around in what was later called Silicon Valley.Sally is an anomaly in this era.She insisted that she just wanted to stay home, be a housewife and mother and my cheerleader.She has done it all and more, and seven years ago we had a healthy son named Rick.

Just three years ago, I became the vice president of business at Prospect Computer Company in Denver, Colorado. In the next two years, I was lucky. I doubled the company's financial resources in two years. A high-level personnel hunting company approached me Me, asked if I would be interested in being the general manager of Millennium Infinite, the world's third-largest computer software maker.After Millennium Infinity's performance declined for two consecutive years, the board of directors unanimously approved the call for leadership candidates.It was like a dream come true for me to have the opportunity to lead and manage a company on a full-time basis while returning home to New Hampshire.

Since the company's headquarters and main factory are located in Concord, the capital of New Hampshire, it is only a 30-minute drive from my hometown of Bran, and the road conditions are also very good, so Sally and I decided to find a car in Bran. house, it turned out very lucky.The furniture we used on the West Coast did not fit the traditional architecture of our new home, but Sally didn't worry about that at all.She immerses herself almost overnight in books and catalogs of early American and Colonial decor, and promises me that her new home will be perfectly decorated before we host our first house party for Millennial Infinity execs. Paul.Revere (Annotation: Paul Revere, a well-known historical figure in the United States, a Boston resident who reported the British army’s attack to the colonial army at halfway before the Revolutionary War, his former residence is said to be the oldest wooden house in the United States, and it is a famous monument in Pau. ) and pride, as long as we don't run out of money first.

Well, I sighed after Sally's compliments to me earlier, the townspeople want us to be in the public square at two o'clock in the afternoon, I think we'd better get out.Where is my baby son? Rick is sulking in the living room.What happened to the adults made him unable to play the routine baseball game with his friends on Saturday afternoon, so he was not very happy. However, because next Wednesday is his birthday, he tried his best not to behave badly, for fear of being deducted points by us . I grinned.Well, let's get on stage, take a bow, and get on with life.