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I have no choice but to try

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    ?

    Suddenly I felt that I had no choice but to work hard.

    In a noisy workshop.  eight pm.

    We are divided into day shift and night shift.  It was my turn to rest.  Because of the rush of goods, I was notified by the leader to take a day off late.

    Just me and one other co-worker at work.

    Far apart.

    My opposite class (that is, the next shift to replace me) is a pregnant woman.  As a woman, I can understand the hardships of her pregnancy.  Therefore, every time I come to work, I face the messy handover scene with a smile.

    Only two people go to work.  No mechanics.

    Go to work at eight o'clock.  At 8:00 the machine broke down.  The reason for the failure is that the pair of workers did not wear the wool properly, causing the broken hair to be rolled into the needle bed

    At that time, I was busy with another machine.  Busy changing breeds, busy wearing wool.

    I was so busy when I first got to work.

    ?Because the machine was not working properly, my happy mood instantly became depressed.

    I feel terrible.

    Although with the help of that colleague, it finally returned to normal.  But the good mood was completely ruined.

    Until 12 midnight.  I haven't quite cleaned up the scene yet.

    Both of us rarely talk.  Although colleagues have more than a year.  But very little contact.

    Because my machine is very close to the place where the wool is poured.

    She came to shake the hair.

    See that I am still messing with the machine.  Can't help but come to watch.

    "Why do you put so much oil on the needle bed?" she asked.

    "There is no mechanic, I am afraid of hitting the pin." She smiled, probably to laugh at my innocence.

    She looked at my face again.

    "Why do you have so many pimples on your face recently?"

    "On fire." I touched my face and replied with a smile.

    She is not talking.  walked away.

    After a while, she brought me an orange.

    I am embarrassed to answer.

    Because I forgot to bring something to eat when I went out today.  I have never had any contact with her.  With her help again, I should have thanked her.  How dare you accept her.

    So, I shook my head.

    "Didn't you say you were angry. I brought you an orange specially."

    Her sincere eyes moved me.

    I took that orange.  I suddenly feel so warm

    The mood that is depressed and depressed becomes better.

    I was moved.

    I will remember at one o'clock in the morning.  Just me and her in the workshop.  She gave me an orange, insignificant though it was.  But bear in mind.

    Because it's when I'm most upset, when everything feels like shit.

    A ray of light is thrown into the cracks of life.

    She stood there eating an orange.

    But I'm busy arranging the pieces.  Leave her alone.  I can't bear it.

    She stood for a while, then left.

    Probably want to chat with me.  Look how busy I am.  Sorry to interrupt.

    At two o'clock in the morning, I'm sitting there writing a novel on my phone.  I saw her figure passing by me several times.

    We haven't spoken all night.

    The only three conversations were all about me

    first.  I ask her for help.

    The second time, she came to ask me why I had such acne on my face.

    The third time, she gave me an orange.

    I feel guilty.  She has always been a shy person.  You probably feel bored if you take the initiative to chat with me.

    But I was reluctant to lose time to sit and chat with her.

    What am I missing?

    ? Is it worthless 3,000 words left on the phone, or the beginning of a friendship

    I think of the warm smile she gave me the orange.

    I think I haven't written 3,000 words today.

    On the nihilistic social network.  I still choose to fight for my dream.

    How many people laugh at my steadfastness?  Giving your all to an illusory ideal that may never come true?

    At 4:30 in the morning, I ate the orange alone by the window sill.

    I finished writing 3,000 words.

    My heart is relieved a lot.

    I have been forcing myself to complete the number of words every day.  Unchangeable.  If not written out.  I will feel the futility of life.

    Because, in addition to my hard work.  There is no other choice.

    Even in vain.

      Even with nothing.

    Even with scars.

    Even if the head is broken.

    Even at the end of life.

    My memory is very poor.  In the future, we may go our separate ways.

    When I am tired one day, I will look back at these things I wrote when I was 27 years old.

    Will there still be deep feelings.

    ? I was moved by every subtle scene.

    I only record the good things in life.

    ?Leave footprints of love and hope.  (Remember the site URL: www.hlnovel.com
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