It was a Sunday morning. Despite the onset of winter, the sun was bright and the scenery was beautiful, offering no sense of coldness or loneliness. Stepping off the bus, I walked toward my predetermined destination. I knew deep down that this would be a treacherous morning.
Last Saturday night, I had been wrestling with the decision of whether or not to go. In the past, I might have simply ignored the conflict, but things felt different now—or perhaps they were the same, just with a lower frequency of visits. I truly love gaming; it holds a primary place in my life. To address this, my mother sent me to Shenzhen to be disciplined by my aunt, which felt both ridiculous and absurd. Since returning, I have rarely visited internet cafes, mostly out of respect for them.
The endless lectures they gave me felt like mere noise; if I wanted to go, no one could stop me. Yet, after such a long absence, I had seemingly grown accustomed to staying away. As I walked, I struggled with indecision, my mind a whirlwind of confusion. Ultimately, I lost my rationality and marched toward my goal. At the entrance, I told myself: just this once, just this once.
With determination, I stepped inside, casting all my worries aside. However, since it had been so long since I had done something so contrary to my conscience, a sense of suffocation settled in my chest. I sat by the computer like a thief, feeling guilty and uneasy. I finally gripped the mouse as I had hoped, but as I stared at the screen, I felt a strange sense of loss—the images that once thrilled me now appeared utterly shameful.
I realized my heart was racing. I felt afraid, unable to experience any semblance of joy. With hands trembling from a sense of guilt, I gripped the mouse—it was my only anchor in that moment. I sat down, braced for the ordeal.
Suddenly, my phone vibrated in my pocket. I knew I had been caught. Although I was mentally prepared, the feeling of being discovered was as intense as ever—tense, thrilling, yet accompanied by a heavy sense of wanting to atone for my sins. I don't even understand why, as a "repeat offender," I would still feel this pang of conscience. I walked home, letting the wind and sunlight lash against my face, yet I felt no warmth, only an increasing chill that seemed to freeze my very bones. The journey back was incredibly arduous. I thought to myself: if time could turn back, I would never go again. But alas, there are no regrets in this world.
