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1. The monster (*)
It There was a cathedral illuminated at night full of fog that covered the snow. projectors drew shadows on the fog, ghost-like forms appeared from the bowels of the stone and all that seemed to emanate something malicious . Gargoyles, sensible ward off evil minds seemed to be petrified of the monsters who tried to escape the fate that awaited them and that the Gods were jealous and omnipotent punished. chimeras troubles and fleeting, the spectra of real madness born in the smoke of the whimsical Winter, mirages made cons-days seemed, too, want to escape the evil incarnate in the comfort of the bat.
2. The echo sterile
In a catalog objective, comprehensive and whimsical, I raised to equal one God and consumed me with anger when it was fatal. Love is as pure a fruit just fallen, some may retain more than others, but they all end, by withering. One can enjoy, be satisfied, to overflow the cups and ridges equal to angels freeing ourselves of our empty shackles. Evil is born in illusions in conventions that fill a void unbearable. It is Echo, the accomplice who could only repeat the last words she hears, she loves Narcissus and they burn every two passions impossible. Love is picked on at the moment, life is already tomorrow.
3. Fill the empty
is unsuccessful, we progressed continuously and move on to something else. As in the snowy streets at night, the smallest particle of light is exacerbated, revealing that the banality usually hidden from us in a new and meetings in one evening that thrive in darkness gives us yet. Then, all will lose everything else and leaves, the snow has melted, the day has come et rien n'est plus jamais comme avant. Je finis, à nouveau, seul avec moi-même. Je regarde alors ce qui est autour de moi: une boite de sirop d'érable ouverte, une autre vide de haricots à la tomate, un aloès et une machine à coudre. Et de l'autre côté, il y a des assiettes empilées sur une affiche au mur, un Bouddha et son autel athée, puis, au dessus, des dizaines de sphères faites de papiers pliés suspendues au plafond. Je remplis, moi aussi, du vide et invente un univers pour le combler.
Éric, 12/010, ty, be.
* With the help of "skinned alive" story by Edmund White, p79, edition 10/18.