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A Letter From Home
- “No letter today either...”
The mail station owner informs him sympathetically. He looks at the pile of letters beside the station owner, desperately begs again:
- “Please check it again... what if you missed something...
The station owner shakes his head firmly, only responds to the skinny man whose face covered in scars with a smile. People waiting behind him become impatient and starts screaming angrily.
- “Hurry up and leave! You are wasting our time!”
He looks at the station owner with watery eyes and then at the group of people lined up behind him, no one understands or sympathizes with him. He sadly walks out of the line.
He has been waiting for a letter from home for a year, waiting for a letter from his little daughter.
He sits down at the tree next to the mail station. He stares at his boney hands and tries to recall some lingering memory of the last time he held his daughter.
He was not very well educated. In the third grade, he ran away from home. He grew up by stealing food in the market and sleeping under the bridge. He followed people and became a gangster who was never afraid of shedding blood. In a blink of an eye, he became an old man in his thirties, he had never loved anyone, did not think any stupid girls would marry a gangster like him. However, he...
The mail station owner informs him sympathetically. He looks at the pile of letters beside the station owner, desperately begs again:
- “Please check it again... what if you missed something...
The station owner shakes his head firmly, only responds to the skinny man whose face covered in scars with a smile. People waiting behind him become impatient and starts screaming angrily.
- “Hurry up and leave! You are wasting our time!”
He looks at the station owner with watery eyes and then at the group of people lined up behind him, no one understands or sympathizes with him. He sadly walks out of the line.
He has been waiting for a letter from home for a year, waiting for a letter from his little daughter.
He sits down at the tree next to the mail station. He stares at his boney hands and tries to recall some lingering memory of the last time he held his daughter.
He was not very well educated. In the third grade, he ran away from home. He grew up by stealing food in the market and sleeping under the bridge. He followed people and became a gangster who was never afraid of shedding blood. In a blink of an eye, he became an old man in his thirties, he had never loved anyone, did not think any stupid girls would marry a gangster like him. However, he...
