November 2, 1987

 

So many years have passed. Whenever I look back on the fate of my youth and his over the past thirty years, I am overwhelmed with shame. I cannot imagine how our descendants will view us. I fear that we are somehow being praised, even hailed as heroes, while our blood-stained hands are slaughtering our own brothers and sisters for an illusory ideology, leading our children forward without washing our hands. This is not liberation, for us or those on the other side. I would rather be spurned by the children, seen as an executioner and a heartless tool of their lost destiny.

 

I repent, not just for him, but for everything I've ever done, but repentance is all I can do. I am powerless.

 

Who can save the children who still harbor hatred in their hearts?

 

(Half of the paper torn)

 

(End)

​

1987年11月2日

​

这么多年过去了，每当回望这三十个春秋里青春的我与他的命运，我的内心始终不断地涌出一股又一股耻辱，我无从想象我们的子孙后代会怎样看我们，我惧怕我们不知为何被他们所赞颂，甚至被奉为英雄，可我们沾满鲜血的双手却在为了虚无飘渺的主义残杀自己的手足，不洗净双手便牵着孩子们向前走。这不是解放，无论从我们还是对岸来说。我宁可被孩子们唾弃，被看作刽子手和无情无义丧失天轮的工具。

我为之忏悔，不只是为他，也为我曾经参与过的每一件事，但忏悔也只是我能做的全部了，我太无力。

谁能拯救内心还没有恨意的孩子们。

​

（被撕去的半张纸）

​

（完）