There lived an old man.
In our village, there are many such tile houses, but few people live there. And he has been living in a tile house under the banyan tree. In my eyes, he is an old man with a tile roof.
His first impression was "crazy". When I was a child, I rode my bike under the banyan tree and went to my classmates' house to play. But when I was pushing the car slowly uphill, there was a burst of endless shouting from the tile house. I was scared, but I couldn't help staring at the half-closed wooden door to see what was going on inside. I saw that it was a thin, bare-chested old man, with his right arm straight, pointing forward and eloquent. Looking ahead, it's just a tattered and filthy wall. Suppressing my fear and surprise, I left in a hurry.
Later, I heard from my classmates who lived nearby that he was a crazy old man, who kept talking and talking nonsense all day. Obviously, he lived alone, but it seemed that someone was talking to him.
From then on, whenever I passed by, I was afraid that he would suddenly rush out of the dilapidated tile house. Unexpectedly, he found himself an old scavenger. The sun is scorching the earth, and there are few pedestrians on the road, but he still goes out naked, carrying a big and dirty bag and holding a small barbed wire with a hook in his hand. The sun scorched his bent back mercilessly, and a thick layer of sweat penetrated his dark skin. A head of fine white hair is dazzling, and the trouser legs are pulled up, revealing those feet that hide evil and shelter evil. Trembling, he took small steps forward, rummaging in the corner of the roadside with wire from time to time.
One day, I pushed my bike up the gentle slope as usual. Today's sunshine is unusually warm and breezy, crossing a lazy road. Suddenly, I found a shadow sitting alone under the banyan tree in front of the tile house. It's the old man. Through the lush leaves, the broken sunshine scattered all over the floor. The old man sat quietly, staring blankly ahead with sunken eyes, apparently lost in thought. At this time, the old man is as gentle as the sunshine today. I put down my steps for fear of accidentally breaking this silent picture. Unexpectedly, with the sound of "cheep-ah", the wheel gave a loud protest discontentedly. I looked at the old man in fear, only to see that his muddy eyes were full of tears. The old man stood up, patted his pants, turned and walked into the dark tile house. Leave me alone and watch his lonely figure disappear into the darkness. ...
Later, I heard from the older generation that the old tile house was also full of laughter until he lost his wife and children and lived alone in this tile house with empty memories.
My heart is full of sadness. Some people say that the price of longevity is vicissitudes. This is the real him! Under the banyan tree and in the tile house, there lived a lonely and heartbroken old man. Is the insistence of the tile-roofed house the once happy voice he tried to retain?