Delicate And Weak

Hospital.

A man in a loose hospital gown leaned back in his wheelchair in a daze.

The fingers which hung under the arm of the wheelchair were holding a piece of paper between them. The writing danced across the paper powerfully.

This was not his style.

"No need to thank me..."

Song Wenchuan mumbled to himself. He had been sitting there since the afternoon and dusk had already fallen. 

Outside the window was a small garden. The winter scene was bleak. The trees were bare and only their branches remained. Under the streetlights, some patients were strolling with their family members.

Everyone's life was proceeding steadily except for his...

Something seemed to have gone wrong.

It was as though a screw had gone missing from his brain when he woke up, causing his life to head down an unknown path.

And it was running so fast that he couldn't catch up.