Great Lord of Calamity’s Reincarnation Chapter 378: Write poems

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The meeting place was a friend of Roca’s writer, Stewart’s home.

This guy is said to be from a certain oil tycoon's family, but he didn't like to go to the company to inherit his family business, and ran out to be a writer chasing a literary dream.

Among the destitute, the hands are the most ambitious, and Roca is often ridiculed as ‘people who will return to inherit hundreds of millions of properties without hard work’.

Stewart’s home is a Second Layer wooden villa located next to a beautiful lake.

According to him, you have to walk around the lake every day to find inspiration.

When Rocca parked the car, he noticed that there were several cars parked around him. Obviously the other friends were almost there.

Seeing this scene, he hurriedly parked his car, sorted out his clothes, and knocked on the door of the villa.

"Roca, you're the only one."

The door was opened by Stewart. He is tall and has long and thin cheeks, and there are dimples on his cheeks when he smiles: "Today Shala brought some lucky cookies, you should try..."

"Uh huh."

Roca promised to walk into the living room and saw a lot of people already coming, surrounded by a somewhat strange man, watching him paint.

He wears a slanted painter’s hat, a sky blue shirt and checked suspenders, and his facial features are handsome, but overall, it’s not much different from the homeless painters who live on the square and paint portraits. .

"Who is this?"

Roca asked the last fortune cookie on the tray next to him.

"His name is Simpson, I just came to our Orsay, after Dick's introduction..." Stewart said slightly uncomfortably: "I call myself a wandering abstract painter."

"He took away the attention of our girl too, and even Shala..." Roca knew why Stewart was so, he laughed and broke the fortune cookie in his hand in a crisp sound, and pulled out Note: "Doom?!"

"Huh?"

Stewart took that piece of paper and chuckled: "Is the merchant's prank? You are out of luck, brother! We have never eaten this, you won the jackpot!"

"Prank...?"

Looking at the word doom, Roca suddenly felt a sharp pain in his temples.

‘I...what did I forget? ’

‘Doom? Why does it feel so familiar? ’

"What's wrong with you, man? The sequelae of the last car accident?" Stewart asked with concern.

"I...I'm okay!" Rocca sat down on the sofa and felt a better headache, but more doubts followed: ‘I...I had an accident? Why did I forget? ’

"Everyone... finished!"

At this moment, Simpson's brush stopped, showing the complete painting.

Red, black, yellow, green... A variety of bright colors converge on the canvas, which inexplicably makes Rocca feel sick.

Besides, there are also irregular, twisted lines, which can be dizzying under long-term gaze, and they feel like they are wriggling.

"Awesome... I seem to see some charm of Master Constantine."

A girl in a red dress marveled.

"I saw a burst of inspiration, which is really wonderful, this perfect color matching..."

"And this line..."

Sounds of praise came from all around.

Roca suddenly felt a little dizzy, and the surrounding buildings seemed to center on him, constantly turning circles.

That individual figure has become a little blurry.

"All the characters present are in the literary world. I think a beautiful painting must be matched with a beautiful little poem..." Simpson smiled, expecting something in his eyes: "I don't know what else will come next Who will perform?"

"In the case of improvisation, of course we are Roca!"

Stewart sees Shira’s gaze coming, his face red, and quickly pulls La Roca’s arm.

He knows his talents, and if he doesn’t experience all night thinking, he suddenly takes out his works, and he will definitely be ugly. He can only ask his good friends for help.

"Uh, Mr. Roca’s article name, I have admired it for a long time, and I have read your three-line poem in a magazine..."

Simpson smiled, handed over the cardboard and pen, and stuffed it into Roca's hands.

Roca’s hearing is a little confused.

Although it is during the day, a literary salon.

But in his eyes, the Daoist shadow became mottled and alienated, like the branches of black trees at night.

The numerous voices have also turned into a dull whisper.

crack!

The fire burst, it’s a bonfire, it’s black silhouettes, and a little crazy whisper...

A longing, as if accumulated in the chest, uncontrollably burst out of the brushstrokes.

Roka took a pen and began to write his poems on paper in a sleepwalking gesture.

No, this is not his poem, but originally inscribed in his body and in his spirit. At this time, it is just reappeared in this world by this gesture!

‘Roca can still write poems, it seems that it’s okay, but the state is a little fanatical...’

Stewart murmured in his heart, leaned forward, and saw a slightly messy word on the paper.

The mess in front is not clear at all, just like a child's hand-drawn graffiti, writing a few words, and then quickly crossed out.

At the back, the alterations gradually became less and became understandable.

Like a continuous creative process.

Slightly sorting out, Stewart felt that he saw a line of small poems and read them out softly:

"I have experienced rebirth and death, but I cannot reach the other side..."

"Death chases the shadows, no Fanghua will not die from withering..."

"This psalm will grow and give you immortality..."

These three lines of poetry have been altered in some places, but with a strange charm, many people present have their eyes brightened.

"That's it, this is it!"

Simpson's face was fanatical, shouting: "Immortal! Immortal existence!"

His voice is weird and seems to be out of tune: "This psalm will grow and give you immortality..."

After he read it in a weird syllable, everyone felt wrong.

The body is okay, but mentally it seems to be pressed with a black boulder.

Stuart just wanted to say something, and found that he was paralyzed on the ground, and he had no strength to say a word.

Most of the people present are like this~IndoMTL.com~ The only ones who can maintain their posture are Roca and Simpson.

Rocca rubbed his temples and looked at Simpson who had always grabbed his poems: "I seem to have... seen you?!"

"You remember, the survivor of the ceremony?"

Simpson’s expression became cold: "It is your pleasure to listen to the sound of great existence, and now...you are useless."

He pulled out a black dagger and slowly stepped forward: "Death is the destination of everything!"

In this weird atmosphere, Roca suddenly found that he had no strength and could not resist, and could only watch Simpson coming to himself.

As if it were an illusion of death, he saw a light curtain emerge in front of him.

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