The fire is coming you run quickly

　　The yellowish copper-like paper money flying all over the sky, the leader walked quickly, the endless sound of firecrackers rang through the sky, following this mountain road seems to never end.

　　The wind in the mountains is very strong, the winter days are very cold, firecrackers exploded on the side, and the splash of debris smashed into the body is an unexpected pain.

　　Even after wrapping several layers of winter clothes, I still shivered with cold. The stiff hand holding the picture frame did not dare to retreat.

　　It was the first time I saw him lying there and the last time.

　　He was well dressed, leaving behind the usual darkness of all black, he was dressed in light blue, wearing a light blue inlaid with a patterned hat, very Miao frontier people - this is the first time in my life to see him dressed in some color, but also the last time.

　　He quietly lying there, the expression on his face is very soft, his face is not pale, there is even a hint of red, can not see that once was a sufferer of the disease.

　　The tears of those who have cried have long since dried up, and those who have not cried are in pain with tears in their eyes.

　　The tricycle "squeaked and squeaked" with the "house" came. Specially bought three-story "villa" - there are tables, chairs, cupboards, windows, doors, gardens, and a dog that faithfully guarded the "house".

　　The "house" was so large and well-papered that I could even see the flowers in a vase placed on the dining room table.

　　As the fire started, it all dissipated into the air, and the thick black smoke stained the sky and the earth.

　　I think he would have been very happy.

　　He was able to sit on a garden bench in the warm sun, cuddling with his dog and drinking tea and flipping through books; he was able to hide inside in the cold weather, watching TV with the heater on; he was able to stand on the balcony of the building in the evening of the setting sun, looking at the landscape.

　　The life that he had not dared to think about, the life that he had not been able to live, he will be able to live in the future.

　　I just regret that the green paths and trees just built underneath the home, he was not able to take a look.

　　Before the sun came out, he was carried away in a joint effort by several people, a white cloth covering his body, and we could no longer see his face. I was isolated outside the door with my picture frame, and could only watch him leave through the window.

　　The last three bows were a tribute to his memory.

　　"Dad! The fire is coming you run quickly!"

　　Who was choking?

　　"Grandpa! The fire is coming you run quickly!"

　　Who is crying?

　　Don't shout, he already knows to run away; don't cry, he will be sad to hear it.

　　I held the picture frame and walked along the mountain road that seemed to never end, a black umbrella firmly covering him.

　　The sound of firecrackers ahead was so loud that I wondered if it would frighten him.

　　I didn't realize that the body that once had to be circled and held with arms could now be held tight with just two hands.

　　The procession was long and slow, and no one made a sound.

　　I used to think that if I came to the lonely mountain one day and saw the graves, I would always be scared. But I did not expect that there will always be more sorrow than fear.

　　The location chosen was high, standing halfway up the hill you could see everything at a glance. He was buried in the land, and the epitaph was written on his life and death, with a few short words summarizing his achievements, and another side reserved for his survivors.

　　As many people say, those who leave first are always happy, and sorrow is reserved for those who are still alive. They can only live in the future without him, they can only live in the memories with him.

　　And the future, never to be seen again.