THE PICTURAL STORY

I crossed the great marble arch. In the distance, on the left,  there was a white path, surrounded by swamps. On the right, the forest was so dense, the branches of the trees so intertwined, that I had the feeling of being in front of a green trap just waiting for me to come closer. I went straight to the clearing. They were waiting for me. I wrote "They" finally, because I thought for a moment that, for my happiness or for my loss, it was human beings of an unknown genus, who stood there. Hope is worse than hunger when it comes to hallucinations. 

Fifteen faces – I counted – fifteen faces stood up around me. Some of them were round, like a fool moon, most were oblong, only one, I think, was almost square. I thought it must be their boss... They looked at me, I looked at them. They were silent, I didn’t tell anything. Some were speechless, I had to be the same.  I remember that at some point I wondered if it was not just my face, mirrored to infinity in some dark mirror. My face terrified, my face astonished, my face disappointed, my face frightened, my face frozen, my face wrecked, taking for the salvation the masks of his dismay.

How much time did I spend like this? When I moved, I felt that immobility had infiltrated all my limbs, like poison. My jaw was numb, my arms either. I managed to rise my right hand, I touched it.

And then… nothing happened.  Nothing but the sensation of a wooden board under my tired hand. I understood everything and I cried. 

Planks, simple boards, traversed by simple signs, which will never come to save me. But these signs, by the way, but yes, those signs, who traced them?

Continuation of the story next month !

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