Starting from South America, speeding through the world

Chapter 263 Big ear scraper

The sunlight shone on the gravel path, but it was not very warm.

Anthony followed behind his grandmother across the golden field.

The wind blew through the wheat fields, and the air was filled with the smell of hay and dust.

The holiday is over, and he has to go back to town to go to school.

Anthony walked with his head down, watching his shadow flicker, sometimes overlapping with his grandmother's, sometimes separating.

They had been walking for almost two hours.

Grandmother remained silent, carrying a cloth bag containing clothes that Mother had sent last month.

Anthony didn't care much about these things.

He was just daydreaming, occasionally kicking pebbles as he pondered how to catch up on his homework.

Grandmother suddenly stopped when they reached the last uphill stretch on the edge of town.

Anthony wasn't paying attention and almost bumped into it.

"What's wrong?" he asked.

Grandmother didn't answer, staring blankly ahead.

Following her gaze, the street was deserted.

The weather was perfect, but there wasn't a soul in sight.

There was no sound, not even a dog barking.

The familiar roof is still there, the doors and windows are intact, and the chimney stands safely.

But it was too quiet, as if some invisible force had drained its life.

Grandmother's face turned pale instantly.

Anthony still didn't understand; he just felt something was wrong. "Where did everyone go?"

Grandmother turned and looked at him.

In an instant, her eyes became very strange—something Anthony had never seen before.

It wasn't surprise, sadness, or anger.

A kind of indescribable complexity.

It was something he could never forget for the rest of his life.

"Weissmann died two days ago, right?"

Anthony was stunned, unable to understand what she was saying at all.

The next second, as if suddenly coming to her senses, her grandmother stiffly grabbed his wrist.

The force was so great that his whole body was trembling uncontrollably.

"Let's go, we have to get out of here."

"why?"

"Come on!"

His grandmother's voice trembled as she tried to pull him back, but Anthony didn't move.

He didn't struggle much; he just stood there, as if something was stuck in his throat.

A deep, deep unease climbed up my spine and spread along my limbs and bones.

“I want to go home,” he said softly.

"We can't—"

"I want to go home and visit."

His grandmother tried to pull him back, but Anthony suddenly broke free, shook off her hand, and ran desperately towards the other end of the street.

The anxious shouts behind me faded into the distance.

The sunlight was blinding, and pebbles flew up, tearing the tips of my shoes.

Anthony heard his breathing become more rapid, his blood surge, and it felt as if everything around him was screaming in unison.

He rushed through the quarry, past familiar fences, manhole covers, mailboxes, and wind chimes in the corner.

nobody.

The door was unlocked and half-open, with the curtains billowing in the wind.

Anthony saw the bicycle lying on the street and his slippers lying in the middle of the road.

Then he saw a pool of dried blood.

More blood, flowing down the stone steps, had long since dried and turned black.

He continued running, staggering, his stomach churning.

Finally, the familiar building came into view.

Anthony stopped in his tracks.

He should have breathed a sigh of relief.

But his body remained frozen in place, out of his control.

A worn-out basket hung on the gate—it was the one my mother often took with her when she went out to buy groceries.

The floor tiles were covered in mud, mottled and messy, as if many people had stepped in and then left in a hurry.

Anthony's throat went dry, and he was unsure whether he should continue.

A faint voice deep within his mind pleaded with him not to go in.

My feet still wouldn't move on their own.

step.

Another step.

The room was dimly lit, with sunlight filtering through the window frames, creating dappled shadows.

The bowls were still on the table, the chairs were overturned, the tablecloth was drooping, and some kind of grime clung to the edges. Anthony looked at the scene before him and suddenly felt breathless.

His mind raced, trying to convince himself that everything was still alright.

Mother may have just gone out.

Father, Father, perhaps went to the factory to work overtime.

Where's my sister? Is she playing in the backyard? Are they all still here?

"mom?"

He struggled for a long time to make a sound, which came out as dry as a nail scraping against an iron plate.

No one responded.

The room was too quiet.

There was no laughter, no footsteps, and no familiar, homey smell.

Anthony could no longer hold it in and rushed to the pool to vomit.

"boom--!"

Several loud noises came from afar.

That is
Those were gunshots!

Anthony looked up abruptly and realized that it was the direction he had just parted ways with his grandmother.

The next second, he burst out of the door and ran wildly toward the edge of the town again.

The streets remained deserted.

Those familiar signs and wells now seemed like some kind of terrifying trap.

Anthony was running too fast and too fast, and he tripped and fell on the side of the road, scraping his knee.

But he could barely feel any pain.

I just kept supporting myself on the ground, forcing myself to stand up and keep running.

We have to get there.

Before it's completely too late.

until--

On the hillside, where I had parted ways with my grandmother, a group of people were gathered.

Soldiers in uniform.

One, two, five, seven.

They lined up in an arc, their gun barrels lowered.

In the very center, a corpse lies face up on the ground.

The light gray scarf fell off.

Anthony's rationality exploded with a "buzz".

He wanted to shout, but no words came out.

He tried to run over, but found his legs were shaking and his feet were rooted to the ground.

"I"

Anthony's lips moved, but he could only watch helplessly.

A soldier placed his hand on the corpse's shoulder and roughly turned it over.

Blood began to flow again from the nose and corners of the mouth.

It was twisted into a posture devoid of dignity.

Anthony's eyes were bloodshot, and his chest felt as if it had been ripped open.

He took half a step, about to lunge forward with a roar—

Unexpectedly, a hand grabbed him from behind and pulled him back.

Anthony stumbled into the alleyway and before he could react, he was slapped across the face.

"Don't move! Look at me!" the man hissed.

Anthony looked up in a daze and realized it was his neighbor's older sister, Katya.

At this moment, her face was deathly pale, and her hair was disheveled.

Anthony's eyes widened in surprise; he had never imagined it would be that quiet, smiling girl.

“Look at me,” Katya repeated stubbornly.

Do you remember their faces?

"Those people's faces? Did you see them clearly?"

Anthony nodded helplessly, his vision already blurred with tears.

Seeing this, Kaja loosened his grip slightly, but still didn't dare to completely give up the hold.

“You must live,” she said.

"Remember their faces, don't forget a single one."

"Now, come with me."

Anthony didn't speak or struggle anymore.

Tears fell onto the ground, creating several shallow craters.

"Where are we going?" he heard himself ask.

"I don't know either, Gernopol, Strey, Roznia."

“It’s not Lviv,” Katya said. “Because there…it’s completely finished.”

Anthony felt the sunlight on his face, but it wasn't very warm.

(End of this chapter)