An endless fog billowed outside thewindow. RichIt was as if the whole world had disappeared on the other side of the fog, and only the hazy sky light shone through the fog and into the room, keeping a kind of half-dim light in this quiet room.In a slightly disheveled bachelor apartment, Zhou Ming sat at his desk. The clutter on the desk had been rudely pushed aside, and a gaunt man was struggling to write:"On the seventh day, the situation has not changed. The thick fog covers everything outside the window, and the windows are blocked by unknown forces. The whole room seems to have been 'cast' into some abnormal space by something..."There was no contact, no water or electricity, but the lights were on and the computer was on-even though I had unplugged it... ·..."As if a slight wind had suddenly come from the window, Zhou Ming, who was deep in writing in his diary, suddenly raised his head, and his haggard eyes lit up slightly.However, the next second he found that it was just his own illusion. There was still nothing outside the window but a pale fog, and a dead world hung coldly over his little abode.
His eyes swept the window sill and saw the wrench and hammer that had been thrown away at random － the marks of his attempts to leave the room in the past few days. But now the hard, crude tools just lay there, as if mocking his predicament.
After a few seconds, Zhou Ming's expression became calm again-with this unusual calm, he lowered his head again and returned to his writing:
"I'm trapped, completely clueless. In the past few days, I've even tried to tear down the roof, walls and floors, but with all my strength, I can't leave a trace on the walls. The room has become like... · It's like a box that's' cast 'with space, and there's no way out...
Except for the door.
"But what happened outside that door... · It's even more wrong."
Zhou Ming stopped once more, slowly examining the handwriting he had just left, and turning over his diary with some carelessness, looking at what he had left behind in the past few days-his suppressed words. Meaningless thoughts, fidgety doodles, and bad jokes written while forcibly relaxing.
He didn't know what the point was of writing this, who he would show this nonsense to in the future. In fact, he is not even a habitual journalist-as a middle school teacher with limited leisure time, he doesn't have much energy to spend on it.
But now, like it or not, he has plenty of free time.
After waking up, he was trapped in his room.
Outside the window was a fog that would not dissipate, so dense that you could not even see anything but fog. The whole world seemed to have lost the alternation of day and night, and a constant, drowsy light filled the room twenty-four hours a day. The windows are locked, the water and electricity are out, the cell phone has no signal, and no matter how much noise is made in the room, it will not lead to outside rescue.
Like an absurd nightmare, everything in the dream is running against the laws of nature, but Zhou Ming has exhausted all the ways to make sure of one thing: there are no illusions here. There are no dreams, only a normal world no longer, and a normal self for the time being.
He took a deep breath, and his eyes finally rested on the only door at the end of the room.
The ordinary cheap white wooden door, with a calendar I forgot to replace it last year and left until today, the door handle polished, and the mat at the door a little crooked.
If this closed and alienated room is like a cage, then the most vicious thing about this cage is that it actually keeps a door that can be opened at any time. At all times, he tempted the prisoners in the cage to push the door and leave-but the opposite door was not the "outside" that Zhou Ming wanted.
There are no old but friendly corridors, no sunny streets and vibrant crowds, no familiar everything.
There was only a strange and disturbing foreign land, and "there" was also an inextricable dilemma.
But Zhou Ming knows that there is not much time for hesitation, and the so-called "choice" doesn't exist from the beginning.
His food reserves are limited, and only the last quarter of several barrels of mineral water are left. He has tried all the means of getting out of trouble and asking for help in this closed room. Now there is only one way in front of him, that is, to be prepared and go to the opposite side of the "door" to get a chance of life.
Perhaps, there is still a chance to investigate and find out exactly what makes this strange and embarrassing supernatural situation today. Zhou Ming took a gentle breath, lowered his head and left the last few paragraphs on the diary: "... However, the only choice now is to go to the opposite side of the door. At least I can find something to eat on that strange ship, and my exploration and preparation there in the past few days should be enough to survive on that ship... Although the preparation I can do there is really limited.
"At the end, to the latecomers, if I fail to come back, and one day in the future, some rescue workers and others really opened this room and saw this diary, please don't take all the stories I wrote down as absurd-it really happened. Although it was horrible, there was really a man named Zhou Ming, trapped in the crazy and strange space-time vision.
"I did my best to describe all kinds of abnormal phenomena I saw in this diary, and I also recorded all my efforts to get rid of difficulties. If there is any 'lates', please at least remember my name, at least remember that all this happened."
Zhou Ming closed the diary, threw the pen into the pen holder beside him, and slowly stood up from behind the table.
It is time to leave, before being completely passive and desperate.
But after a short period of thinking, he did not go directly to the only door that could lead to the "outside world", but went straight to his own bed.
He must face the "foreign land" opposite the door with a comprehensive attitude-and his current state, especially his mental state, is not good enough.
Zhou Ming didn't know if he could fall asleep, but even forcing himself to lie on the bed and empty his brain was better than going to the "opposite" in a state of mental exhaustion ".
Eight hours later, Zhou Ming opened his eyes.
Outside the window is still a chaotic mist, and the day and night unknown sky light has depressing gloom.
Zhou Ming directly ignored the situation outside the window. He took out the food from the few reserves left and ate eight minutes full. Then he came to the dressing mirror in the corner of the room.
The man in the mirror still had messy hair, looked rather embarrassed and had no temperament to speak of. But Zhou Ming still stared at himself in the mirror, as if to permanently print this appearance in his mind.
He stared at the mirror like this for several minutes, then whispered to himself, as if to say to the person in the Mirror: "Your name is Zhou Ming, at least in 'here', your name is Zhou Ming, keep this in mind all the time."
After that, he turned around and left.
When he came to the familiar door, Zhou Ming took a deep breath and put his hand on the handle.
Except for his clothes, he didn't carry anything extra, neither food nor self-defense equipment. This was the experience left by several previous "explorations"-he couldn't bring anything through this door except himself.
In fact, he even felt that even the "self" had to be questioned, because...
Zhou Ming turned the handle and pushed open the door. A cloud of gray and black fog, which was rising and shrinking, appeared in front of him like a curtain. While in the uncertain fog, he seemed to have heard the sound of waves coming into his ears.
Stepping over that layer of mist, the slightly salty sea breeze came onward, the illusory sound of waves in my ears became real, and there was a slight sense of shaking at my feet. Zhou Ming opened his eyes after a brief dizziness, and the sight was a wide and empty wooden deck, the towering mast standing under the dark clouds, and the marginal and slightly undulating sea outside the board.
Zhou Ming lowered his head and saw a stronger body than his memory, a captain uniform with exquisite workmanship and high cost but completely unfamiliar style, a pair of thick palms with bone joints, and a black hair gun with classical appearance that was holding in his hand.
I was trapped and had no clue at all. In the past few days, I even tried to remove the roof, walls and floors, but I couldn't leave any trace on the walls with all my strength. This room became like... Like a box with space 'casting', there is no way out...
Yes, even the "self" has to be called a question mark.