Ethereal Stories: Conquest

From indifference to oblivion, there is only one step. And this short distance, I believe I am in the process of crossing it; time is counted.
My name is Julius Larsen. Thirty-nine years old, of Danish nationality.
Events have just happened here that are beyond reason. That’s why, before everything unravels in the mists of my conscience, I want to report on this laptop what I saw with my own eyes. I don’t invent anything. All of the following has indeed taken place.

With Amelia my partner and two other couples of friends, we spent pleasant days off in this large house with swimming pool, rented in the Alpes-de-Haute-Provence in France. We were surrounded by nature, the climate was ideal, the atmosphere was fine. It was my best vacation in a long time.
Yesterday morning, waking up before everyone else, I was having a coffee on the terrace when I saw Willow, my Australian Shepherd, behaving abnormally. While moaning, the dog crawled and cast towards the blue of the sky distraught glances that I did not understand.
Stunned, I then witnessed an incredible phenomenon: a gigantic mass was positioning itself, slow and silent, about thirty meters above the villa. As the sun grew almost warm, I found myself shivering in a huge puddle of shadow.

My first instinct was to leave the terrace to reach the interior of the house where I alerted my comrades, screaming like a madman. The household was still asleep, except for Amelia who, from the bathroom, asked me why I was bawling like that.
Five minutes later, our entire group was gathered in the living room, in disbelief, eyes still puffy with sleep, craned their necks behind the glazing to stare at the stationary object. It was a disc of considerable diameter, smooth as marble; its deep black surface reflected no light. One of us had the idea of phoning the gendarmerie who could have provided us with explanations, but our mobile lines were no longer working.
We were there, nervous, going around in circles without being able to agree on what to do next when, suddenly, several cables fell from the UFO along which strange silhouettes slipped. Their descent was so brief that we didn’t have time to detail them. One fact, however, seemed to us irrefutable: these living organisms were not of human form; rather spidery.
Among us, some have lost their means. Linda, Amelia’s long-time friend, broke down in tears, while Hans, her husband, white as a sheet, urged us to get to the cellar without delay to barricade ourselves there.

Coming from an adjoining room, the din of a smashed French window suddenly made us jump. From that moment, guided by their survival instinct, everyone went to take refuge where they could, without worrying about others. For my part, I found shelter at the bottom of a cupboard in the kitchen where, curled up in the middle of cleaning products, my heart beating at a maddening speed, I waited.
After a few seconds abominable cries reached me, accompanied by noises of struggle which froze my blood. Helpless in my hiding place, I recognized the voices of my friends. They implored, struggled, screamed in terror, formed a desperate chorus, unbearable to hear. Then, one after another, the mouths fell silent to make way for silence. Eloquent and heavy. I was probably the only survivor.
The next few minutes were the longest of my entire life. I was shaking so hard that it seemed impossible not to be spotted and slaughtered like the others. While I was preparing for the worst, no one came to dislodge me from this storage room.

Blinded by the ambient light, my limbs numb, I finally left my hole. How long was I there? I couldn’t tell, but when I got to my feet, I noticed he was floating in the air like the smell of blood.
On tiptoe, shortness of breath, I crossed the kitchen to approach the half-open door leading into the living room.
The scene I saw should have overwhelmed me; however I managed to control myself and stay on my feet, wondering where I could draw this courage.
To speak of a nightmare would be to lie. We were beyond. In a form of ultimate, superhuman horror. A delirious pandemonium, close to those hallucinated visions painted by Jérôme Bosch. In the middle of the room stood five creatures, huge gray insects consisting of a potbellied bladder-like body mounted on six slender legs. About five feet tall, they remained motionless, busy slowly devouring what remained of their prey. The victims’ clothes and shoes had been left in a corner. As I strained my ears, a chilling sound came to me: the muffled sound of crushed bones under their mandibles.
I thought I was really fainting when I saw the severed heads of my comrades lying on the ground between their hideous limbs. In each of their mouths was introduced a long flagellum connected to the body of the monster. These slender, shiny appendages seemed to hold the faces in a sort of semi-consciousness, a shred of life. Beneath the half-open eyelids the tarnished irises of their eyes moved weakly.
I then saw Amelia’s severed head. From a distance, pale and tragic, my beloved stared at me. Suddenly, as if trying to warn me, her bloodless lips came alive. I thought I could stay in control of my emotions, but this time I couldn’t. Around me everything became blurred, I collapsed and lost consciousness.

Lying on one of the sofas in the living room where I had been installed, I recovered my senses. My first act was to check if I had lost anything; when I saw that everything was fine, I relaxed. Turning my head towards the French window opening onto the terrace, I recognized my five friends. They were sitting in the sun, peaceful, in the physical aspect that I had always known them. The huge dark lid no longer crowned the house, as for the carnage that had taken place in the room, there was no trace left.
Did I have a bad dream? I was beginning to believe him.
In order to get to the bottom of it, I went to the kitchen to put my nose in this narrow little room where I thought I had hidden. In fact, I observed an abnormal disorder there; everything was upside down.
I then wanted to join my companions outside. Before the attack, our band was the gayest imaginable; talkative, playful and restless. I found a static assembly there, strangely disciplined and silent. Seeing me move forward, everyone turned their heads towards me without saying a word, then resumed their posture. Insensitive, distant. A revealing detail nevertheless jumped out at me: my friends had exchanged their clothes, which was not at all in our practice. I concluded that after taking on human appearance, the creatures got dressed without worrying about any consistency in clothing.
The situation should have alarmed me, made me run off at full speed. Instead, I felt nothing but blissful indifference.

Who can tell me what happened while I slept?
If I was spared, why do my emotions fade away in favor of this cold force that I cannot name?
This is the state of uncertainty in which I am floating at the moment.
But from above will soon come the truth. Because at the time when I finish this story, an incredible spectacle unfolds before my eyes: in the distance, large dark discs hover silently above the sunny countryside.
They are thousands. The sky is clear. I feel nothing.

I hope you liked this story.I love this post format but it took me a lot of time so maybe i will post those story less often in the future but I will not stop it. I just need a bit more time to rest after work and with friends and family for now.

Take care of yourself and your loved one and see you soon!

Ethereal Stories: Daily life of a potion shop

The other day, I was eating with people from my theater group. One of the girls started talking about her job as a pharmacist. It was really boring but it inspired me this little story. Good reading!

— Hello, I need a potion of… of…

I leave my register and gauge the client who continues to search for his words. His hands are nervous. Stuffed in his pockets, they move like puppets. Uncomfortably, his mine jumps from shelf to shelf, looking for a label that would have the courtesy to tell him what he is looking for. His eyes splay across his face, swampy globules that flutter like mosquitoes. I see that his big round jaw is directly connected to his neck, he chews in the void a desire to eat his lips so as not to admit his reason for being here. Probably the first time he has ventured into this kind of store. He reminds me of the last time I sold a toad transfiguration extract.

— You see… A potion for… for my…
— They’re at the back of the store, next to the breast enlargement elixirs, you can’t miss them.

A feeling of embarrassment sets in. I feel like he wants to kiss me to thank me. I’m flattered, but I’d have to turn him into a dildo if he approaches me. He seems to grasp the silent threat and changes his mind, contenting himself with a bumbling thank you and a curtsey before trotting off in the direction indicated. I should consider putting up a sign with a rod as an arrow to help guide them.

— Hmm, hm! Good morning !
I turn around, and have to look down to notice a small boy with clenched fists. Her hair looks like an egg running down her skull. A rough mix of yellow and white with a flyaway streak right in the middle. He wears a bed sheet that he has recycled into a toga, giving him the appearance of a Roman senator. With his wrathful expression, I expect any second to be the subject of gladiator-style condemnation:

— Are you okay little one? You got lost ?
— I’m seventy, moron! Get off your perch a bit so I can make you pay for the poison you sold me.

The hoarse and damaged voice of this baby face reminds me of something. I remember selling an extract to a face of the same kind covered with a hundred more wrinkles and spots. I should have teleported the shop to another city after the inventory.

— What is this about ?
— As if you didn’t know that!

Two days ago, I came for a rejuvenation potion. I had unearthed a thirty-year-old godiche, not shy, I wanted to surprise her. You sold it to me guaranteeing me that I would find all my ardor, enough to make the bed shake… I drank the vial… Have you ever tried to fuck with a maggot as a sword?
I feel it ready to attack me, it vibrates dangerously like dynamite just waiting to explode. However, one of the side effects of this drink is the possible transmission of rabies by oral contact. I should think about marking it on the manual for that matter.

— Madame was not satisfied with the product?
— She burst out laughing when she saw me and knocked herself out on the edge of the bed.

— Nothing serious ?

— No idea, I just ran here to solve this problem. So, do you worry that I can find her then! I took viagra, and it’s starting to sting!
Indeed, I see at the level of his crotch that the cocktail seems to do its work.
— All I can recommend is to wait for the effects of the magic to wear off. A few hours should be enough.

— No, no, no and no! I want to get laid, damn it!
To observe a child jumping around, mad with rage and chanting this has something unrealistic about it. For other customers. As far as I’m concerned, it’s the second of the day.

— You will find me a solution, immediately!
The boy pulls out a gun and points it at me. I’m relieved, I don’t have the right to use witchcraft against an intrusive client, but the rule is quite different when I’m threatened. I smile, and snap my fingers. Immediately, a hole makes the floor disappear and swallows the youngster who lets out a cry of surprise. A few hours with his darkest fears should calm down. It reminds me of my childhood.

— Hello !
In front of me is a familiar-faced customer. The pricked nose, the plump eyes and the mouth which causes a small noise of wings each time he bites his lips. He looks like a penguin bobbing with his belly taut like a drum. I wonder if he uses the latter to make his vocalists by hitting on it. From his ridiculous clumsy stampings, he turns impatiently in all directions.

— What can I do for you ? You seem to me in a better mood.

I remember our discussions during his previous visit. The poor bird was persuaded to be cuckolded by his wife. Much smarter and funnier, apparently, he had managed to seduce her at the time thanks to his considerate unhealthy kindness. The problem is that this had had some perverse effects in their couple, in particular having a separate bedroom so as not to disturb the lady any longer because of her guttural snoring. Obviously, the sexual relations had become rare thereafter. Over time, gnawed by his fear of infidelity, he ended up coming to my shop to ask me for a polymorphism potion so that he could take on the appearance of a colleague of his wife with the airs of Adonis that he suspected of being her lover. From his good looks, I deduce that…

— Tremendous ! Everything is going much better with my partner thanks to you!
— Glad to hear that. You could see for yourself that you were on the wrong track about it.

— Absolutely not ! This bitch was indeed cheating on me with this Gregory for months when I confronted him in this form.
He keeps a radiant smile, I think I lost track somewhere.
— I… And you… Are you all right?”

— If you knew ! We hadn’t made love like this for years! This savagery with which she straddled me… You cannot imagine.
— But… At that moment, were you really under the appearance of the lover?”

— Whatever ! I realize that she can deceive me as much as she wants, since I am the person with whom she commits her crime. I’m not going to be jealous of myself, after all.
There is indeed an implacable logic to such reasoning. However, something bothers me:
— But… What about this Grégory?

His face takes on an embarrassed color:

— That’s why I need your help again. I need to renew my stock of potions…
— To continue this adulterous relationship with yourself?”

— Not only … You see, after a whole night of passion with my companion, we began to discuss, at length. At dawn, we came to the conclusion that it was no longer possible for her to remain imprisoned in a marriage that made her so unhappy. So we decided that we had to kill her husband.

— So you ?
— Not exactly… I have to admit that since I had the real Grégory kidnapped, he’s been a little cumbersome in my cellar. He moaned a lot, my companion could eventually find out and understand the pot of roses. So, I said to myself, why not transform it into myself, the time of the murder, in order to get rid of it with my wife as an accomplice? Clever, isn’t it? Thus, we will finally be free to continue our idyll as before.

Words fail me. I could judge him for this folly, but this little business could secure me a steady income with a client engaged in such a charade for years. And then, who am I to decree what is right or wrong? I’m just an ordinary small trader, after all. Nothing more.

Ethereal Stories: The clothes do not make the Wizard

Nathan wonders what he’s doing there.
He first thought it was a hoax, when he came across the LinkedIn ad. However, the correspondent he had by email seemed serious, expressed himself without questionable spelling mistakes, then the secretary on the phone seemed to him cold and devoid of emotion, like a real civil servant.
Even the building is official, if that makes sense: sober, boring, sanitized. A few posters, magazines and other leaflets adorn the waiting room, the only touches of color provided by the “company”. As for the other candidates… No matter how hard he searches, he doesn’t see a pleasant term, or even a neutral one, to characterize them.

When someone waves a flyer in his face, Nathan forces a smile that seems to him more of a grimace, but which seems to satisfy the man who hands him the paper. When Nathan reads it, he feels annoyed by the predictability of it: the same one you find in every mailbox, once or twice a year.

Marabout, voodoo, witchcraft: return of the loved one, success in exams, placement on the stock market, promotion, penis enlargement, flowering of hydrangeas. Call me at 45…

And these people actually think they are taken seriously? He purses his lips. Well, it’s because of people like these that he’s ashamed to reveal his real job to those around him. For six months, he managed to make his ex believe that he was mining Bitcoin on the internet.

In front of him, a young girl waits, inspecting her long fingernails. She must be in her twenties, a lot of jewellery, plant tattoos and woolen clothes that look itchy, judging by the rash on her arms – probably alpaca hair from Peru, woven by hand or he doesn’t know what bullshit yet. One of those new Wicca witches, no doubt. All the same. Well, on the religious side, he has nothing to say about it, but can’t she dress a little more strictly, for a job interview? Between that and the pink hair, how can she expect these people to take her seriously?
And yet, it is one of the least worst. The interview room opens. A stunted little old woman reeking of incense, with a shawl and at least ten amulets around her neck, comes out, accompanied by a government pundit in a suit and tie. He throws the traditional “We’ll call you back!” » and returns to lock himself in the office, this time with the marabout. Madame Irma hums as she leaves the building.

“Well, there are a lot of charlatans here, don’t you think?
It’s his neighbour, comfortably installed on his plastic chair – as comfortably as one can be, in any case, on this kind of folding things – who has just addressed this introductory sentence to him. His dazzling smile might have inspired confidence, if he weren’t wearing a large white toga adorned with gold patterns. Fifties, bald.
“What are you?”
The guy holds out a hand that Nathan doesn’t take, responding:
“I am Nostradamus, the cosmic priest of the stars of the firmament.
A cult leader, then. So that’s the pompom. In the end, the other scammers don’t do too much harm: if they manage to steal a few tickets from petty bourgeois wishing to speak to the ghost of their poodle, good for them! In this economy, you have to find tricks to survive. But this brood…
Fortunately for him, the door opens again on the suit and tie. Given the length of the interview, the marabout did not convince him. It’s not really surprising. This guy really manages to make a living with this kind of shenanigans?

Finally, the recruiter says Nathan’s name and Nathan springs to his feet. He does not flinch even when he feels analyzed from head to toe and enters the small windowless office, where he is asked to sit down.

He doesn’t know what exactly this “job” he is applying for consists of, but the announcement comes from the government, just that! The description was vague and contained the words: paranormal, witchcraft, afterlife, special powers. It must be a section of scientific research on everything related to the unexplained, like what the CIA set up in the last century. The sort of thing that’s a little immoral around the edges.
But Nathan has no more morals than all those fortune tellers. Oh, he prides himself on doing his job properly, without lying to anyone! Only, here, the customers do not jostle with the gate… So, this job, it is a godsend for him.
He got ready for the occasion, shaved, dressed in his best shirt and updated his resume. He’s serious, not like those clowns strutting around in the waiting room!
The suit-and-tie executive goes through his papers, then raises dull eyes to Nathan, with an eyebrow arched to the middle of his forehead as if not taking him seriously.

— Good. Tell me about yourself.
— My name is Nathan Daot. I’m a paranormal consultant.
The eyebrow is still rounded, if possible.
— Consultant?, repeats the recruiter, articulating each syllable.

— Yes. It’s mostly about determining if people are haunted by a ghost, a demon, or just paranoid.
The guy writes something about his stationery. He takes his time, the bugger. Nathan stirs.

— I see. And what is the difference between these… three scenarios?
He takes on the skeptical tone of anyone Nathan explains his job to. Oh, he didn’t expect it to be easy anyway!
— Demons are aggressive and vicious. Everything they do has a purpose: to drive you mad, to hurt, to kill… Ghosts are just residual energies after death. If their manifestations hurt anyone, it is only by pure coincidence. As for paranoia, it’s simple: doors slamming due to drafts, strange noises that actually come from the plumbing… I don’t need to draw you a picture.
“What are you doing to send these…entities back to the afterlife?”

— It’s impossible. The demons are here because of a pact, and nothing will stop them until it is over. As for ghosts, there is no technique to make them disappear.
This guy is really going to twist his eyebrows from raising him.
“You don’t help these poor people?”

— What do you want me to do ? I advise them to leave the haunted place, at best. If a candidate hands you the Ghostbusters vacuum cleaner, kick them out, please!
The joke does not make the recruiter laugh. Nathan swallowed.
“Anything else to report?” he asks in his drawling tone. Telekinesis, telepathy, communication with the beyond…
“Bullshit, all that!” Uh, no offense.
Damn, he spends so much time getting annoyed about all this that mustard naturally goes to his nose every time he talks about it. Reflex.

— Good. We will call you back.

What, is that all? So he’s not believable? Nathan stands up, annoyed, as the recruiter walks him to the door. Finally, he is much more believable than the other imbeciles! He returns to the waiting room, while the fiftieth – the supreme priest of Jupiter or he does not know what – comes forward to succeed him.

Why didn’t he convince them? Should he have introduced himself as a wizard? Bah ! Too connoted. The term conjures up ridiculous togas and pointy hats. Wizard ? Even worse ! He doesn’t do sleight of hand!
Blasé, he leaves the building and leans against the wall. There, he pulls out a cigarette which he wedges between his lips, then snaps his fingers to make a flame appear at the end of his index finger, which he uses to light the tube of tobacco. He shakes his finger to put it out, blows a whirlwind of smoke skyward.
Really, what a hassle, to find work.

Ethereal Stories: A beloved witch

It’s been a while since I’ve written little stories. Here’s a little one to remind you that when you have a crush on someone you shouldn’t be too hesitant to tell him/her.

Raoul

Her name is Apple. Like an apple. She probably has parents who have a lot of apple trees. Can you imagine a beautiful girl? Well Apple is even more beautiful than that. She has wonderful dimples, wonderful hair (red, but not too much) and she smiles all the time, even when it’s gray or rainy. In history class I am behind her and I admire her back. It’s a pity that the Bac test does not fall on Apple’s back, I would have been unbeatable. I try to listen to history, the one we should know, the cold war, the fall of the wall, the construction of Europe… All of this brings me back to Apple’s back. Her red hair over her green sweater. This afternoon: English! I will be on his right. So I’m going to work on his right profile, maybe my favorite. I will have to be discreet, especially not heavy! I would be sorry.

Apple

His name is Raoul. Still haven’t understood what prompted his parents to call him Raoul! It scrapes at the back of the throat, you can’t be affectionate with a name like that. “ My little Rara ! it can’t work. Too bad because he’s funny and rather cute, I can already see all my girlfriends starting to hang around him. Strangely he doesn’t realize anything, plus he seems shy. The Christmas holidays are approaching and I will spend two weeks without seeing him. It doesn’t seem to move him. This afternoon, during English class, I thought I saw him watching me. But nothing is certain, he could as well observe Coline who is sitting next to me. Coline is tall (I could say tall if I were naughty) and inevitably she overshadows me, you only see her, in the classroom, in front of the school, on the bus. It’s our benchmark, so obviously Raoul only sees Coline. It’s certain.

Raoul

Sorcery objective: I have studied the problem well, the only way for Apple to take an interest in me is to use proven and risk-free techniques. I watched tutorials, consulted blogs there are many processes. In some cases it is necessary to obtain an extract of the person to bewitch, I had no intention of cutting Apple into a slice.

Get a recent full-length photo. Not easy either. She is not on Instagram or Twitter or Facebook, I would have to be able to take her picture discreetly without anyone around, so that she is not hidden by a Coline for example.

No, the most accessible way is the so-called “encirclement” technique. The principle is simple: you have to go around the home of your loved one 33 times. In addition to the LPs, you have to recite some kind of weird sentences that I printed out to learn them by heart. It must be Tibetan, I’ve never seen it but it looks like it.

Apple

I am scared. I don’t know why but I’m scared. I’m sure they’re all flirting with Raoul on their Instagram Messenger and company. They’re all stuck in their head, and I’m a UFO. No social networks, no Meme (yes I know what it is!), no TikTok and thumbs up that skip to the next video half a second after half a second. So I read, I think of Raoul, I eat chocolate, I think of Raoul. I wouldn’t crack. I swore to myself not to pry into his life using the internet and I would hold on. So I invent stories, stories with Raoul who comes towards me smiling, or who cooks or who walks in the forest. At the end of the story, Raoul takes my hand, he says kind words to me (I don’t know what in fact, it’s up to him to find the right words) then he approaches my mouth and kiss. Pfff I look clever making me stories of princesses and charming princes who come to kiss me. Prince Raoul ! it doesn’t sound very good. I don’t know what sounds good with Raoul. Sometimes I imagine that it’s him who’s sleeping, on the beach, and I take advantage of his closed eyes to kiss him.

Raoul

I can’t stop learning the magic phrases by heart. There are about fifteen in all, each sentence is made up of about ten words that look something like this: KAFALOUMIKOLOPARA MIPOULARISOTOALAPOELE etc. Fifty times that I reread these damned sentences, I’ll never get there! Not to mention that I’m going to have to recite them while I go around Apple’s 33 times.
Speaking of which… Pomme lives in the countryside, in an isolated house, with flat land around it and probably lots of apple trees. So 33 times around the property, I calculated, that’s 66 kilometers, to do in one go otherwise it won’t work, the tutorial is formal!
I decided to do the 33 bike tours, in 4 hours it is possible. I would get up very early, my parents would still be sleeping and, keeping a good rhythm, I would be finished before going to class. People will think that I left for high school very early. I’m almost to the point on the last evening Tibetan phrases to repeat. I should have taken Tibetan as a second language for the Bac.

At Apple,

Apple’s dad finishes shaving, it’s still dark and he leaves for work in 30 minutes. Back in the kitchen, standing behind the window, he drinks his coffee, staring into space. He sees in the distance a young cyclist pedaling at a brisk pace. The young man is holding his handlebars in one hand and sheets of paper floating in the wind in the other. The picture makes him smile. After getting dressed, Apple’s dad goes back to the kitchen, he thinks amused of this cyclist who is perhaps revising his lessons on his bike. He turns off the light and does not notice that the same cyclist is going back to the same place always at the same pace.

Monsieur Pomme silently leaves the house which is still sleeping, gets into his car, triggers the opening of the automatic gate and says to himself that he should remember to change the orange flashing light of the gate, the one which starts up during the operation of the leaves. He quickly crosses the gate without bothering to look at the traffic, because there is no traffic in the rue de Pomme.
Except that morning, at 6:30 a.m., at the precise moment when Raoul, his nose buried in his papers, pedals vigorously, articulating his 24th MIPOULARISOTOALAPOELE. The shock is terrible, the bike becomes folding for the occasion, Mr. Apple’s car is badly dented and Raoul is lying on the road.

Apple

Dad is in the hall yelling on the phone, he’s yelling at someone who obviously doesn’t understand that there’s an accident and that help needs to be sent quickly. I rush in pajamas in front of the house. There, in the street, I see a twisted bicycle and a boy lying on its side. I remain frozen by the scene that I discover: Raoul, My Raoul, he is there, lying on the macadam, his eyes closed. I rush over to him, take his head in my hands and I don’t know what’s gotten into me, I slowly approach his mouth, I kiss him. So slowly he opens his eyes, he kisses me in turn and whispers something weird, probably Tibetan. I don’t care, it’s up to him to choose the right words.

Ethereal Story: About Fourty

Jane jumped to the strident sound of her awakening. What day were we? Tuesday ? Wednesday ? She swivels on her stomach to wipe out cheerfully in her duvet. A large cup of coffee would undoubtedly help him to clear up ideas. She had vague memories of the day before. She took a deep inspiration to give herself courage and got up. The slippers that had slipped under the bed were far too big for her little feet. She noticed that her t-shirt was coming strangely at the knees. In the kitchen, she could not reach the shelf where the cup in which she usually used her coffee was located. She enlisted with an automatic gesture the coffee maker which emitted a complaint and a brief gargouillis. While her drink flowed drip and already embalmed the apartment, Jane headed for the bathroom to take her medication box. She was surprised by her own reflection. Planted in front of the big mirror, she found herself face to face with a little girl.

That morning, Jane was six years old.

-Damn, she sighed.

She had never come back so far in time.

Jane suffered from a rare and unknown disease that doctors simply called “temporal disruption”. They could have found a more learned name, a name in Latin which would make a little classy temporis disturbi temporis, or a name inspired by mythology as aeson syndrome, but no, they had not been more inventive. The first signs of the disease appeared the day after her fortieth anniversary. Jane had not first paid attention to it. One morning, she was radiant with a fresh complexion and the pink cheeks. She told herself that she had enjoyed a restful sleep and that her new night cream had done wonders. For once, advertising had not been false. But another morning, she discovered new wrinkles and multiple white hair. The differences with her real age had increased over the months. In the night, her body was transformed according to an unknown and mysterious process. He rejuvenated or aged in her sleep. At dawn, she discovered her age of the day helpless. She had been forced to leave her job as an accounting assistant when one morning she woke up in the body of an eleven year old prediction. She was far too young, even to solicit a discovery course. She had asked her boss to exercise her profession in teleworking so that she could shut herself up and not cross her colleagues who would have understood nothing about the situation.

Her illness had also turned her love life upside down. Jane had initially considered her temporary rejuvenation as an unexpected chance of enjoying lost time again. She had forgotten how beautiful she was at twenty. She who had been so complexed after adolescence! What a funny idea with hindsight! Jane returned to her jeans again effortlessly and was taken from a crazy desire to dance and get drunk. After dragging into two or three bars, she had managed to bring a beautiful philosophy student home who had debited her quotes from Saint-Augustin while undressing her penetrated. “As for the present, if he was still present, if he was not going to join the past, he would not be time, he would be eternity. Jane had not understood anything, but she had been delighted with her evening. Her one night lover had been in a less philosopher mood when he had discovered the next day a woman of seventy years nestled against him. He had cried out of gold and detailed like a rabbit. Jane had not held the experience and had since resolved to celibacy.

The little girl she was that day sat down with her cup of hot coffee at the table of her modest kitchen and swallow her drugs like a handful of candies. She began to believe that a vulgar placebo had been passed through her because the disease would get worse. She inspected her little pink hands. Six years today. How old tomorrow? What would happen if she woke up in the body of an infant or in that of a grabarity vieillarde? In both cases, she would be unable to move by herself. It had already happened that it remains significantly blocked at the same age for several days in a row. She shivered at the idea of staying lying in bed, unable to move, and die of dehydration or hunger, helpless and stuck in the boring body of a six -week baby.

This perspective froze her blood. Her coffee was already cold. She had to urgently consult Dr. Chronas. In her wardrobe, she kept clothes of different sizes. Over time, it had formed a wardrobe to overcome all her morphological deviations. She put on a flower dress size 10 years – too large, but too bad – and sizes 29 boots which she had recovered in a fair at everything. The doctor’s office was at the other end of the city. The car would have been the fastest means of transport, but Jane was far too small to reach the pedals and she did not want to be arrested by the police. It was a hit to be directly placed in childhood social assistance. So she took the metro by being as discreet as possible. Based in the crowd, making believe that she was accompanied by an adult, we might leave her quiet. She hoped that a poodle granny was not going to caress her cheek by asking her where her mother was, as the last time she had borrowed public transport. Fortunately, and after only a few intrigued looks placed on her, Jane arrived without incident at the medical office.

Dr. Chronas did not need to examine it at length to lead to this observation: he unfortunately felt overwhelmed by the condition of his patient. All analyzes carried out, radios and other blood tests were not anomaly in Jane’s organism. It had to be psychological.

-I am not a psychiatrist, but you may have somatized your quarantine crisis, announced the doctor learnedly.

Jane got up and kicked her in the shins. What a charlatan that one!

Let’s see, Madame Pellicer, stop behaving like a child! replied Dr. Chronas. You cannot constantly flee the passage of time!

Vexed, Jane slammed the cabinet door and began to wander in the city. Of course, she was afraid of the passage of time. She had nostalgia for the years when she was still a student, she regretted the innocence and the cheerfulness of her childhood. She would have liked to retain all these years in the palm of her hand, the years spent, but also in the years to come. The next decades were a nightmare. She refused that her body will change, that her movements become slower and painful.

Just live the present time, forever.

As it walked and the sun was declining, Jane’s shadow gradually lengthened. She crossed her reflection in the window of a hair salon.

That evening, Jane was forty-one years old.

Ethereal Stories (Halloween special): A dirty business

It started out as a routine affair. I never knew how to say no, especially to a pretty woman. I’ve known Grace for a while, and even though we just pretend like nothing happened, we both know the effect she has on me. And also the effect I don’t have on him, but that doesn’t stop me from believing it. So when she asked me to investigate the disappearance of Lilian and Carmen Bauer, two twins from her class (she’s a teacher), rather than telling her to go to the police, I promised her to meet me a little, when I would have finished my day. After all, I’m a detective.

It was dark when I pulled up in front of the Bauers. I didn’t try to be discreet, I wasn’t hiding. By reflex, I checked that all my night equipment was in place: flashlight, professional license and firearms permit. And gun in his holster. I had never used it, but I felt better with it than without, when it was dark. I walked down the driveway that led to the Bauers’ house. The automatic lighting has been triggered. A minivan was parked in front of the garage. Two car seats were installed in the back seat, it was in all likelihood the family car. But the Bauers had been able to leave with a second vehicle. Hard to be sure of anything, but I was starting to feel something weird, like a slight uneasiness. When I rang, no one answered. I walked around the pavilion, even in the dark I saw that the garden was really very well maintained. I tried to see something through the windows, in vain, the curtains were too thick. The bad feeling has not left me.

My tour of the house finished, I rang again. I was about to leave when, in an almost unconscious reflex, I grabbed the handle of the front door. To my surprise, it was open. Obviously, I entered, preceded by the beam of my lamp.

I was immediately hit by the smell. If you’ve smelled carrion once in your life, you’re unlikely to confuse it with anything else. My hair stood on end, but who knows why, I didn’t turn on my heels, slam the door and call the cops. I took out my gun and went in search of the corpses. I knew it was bullshit, and even if I had little chance of finding the murderer, I was going to massacre the crime scene. Because I had no doubt, at that time, that I was at a crime scene. The entrance opened onto a fairly wide hallway. There was a small piece of furniture and a wall coat rack. On the right wall, the cold light of my lamp revealed a family photo: we saw the two little ones, and the parents, blond, beautiful, slim, smiling. And a huge dog, a kind of Great Dane, all in muscles and jaws, lying nonchalantly in front of the children. I told myself that you had to be damn determined to tackle a family with such an imposing dog.

I kept moving forward. The hallway led to a large living room, I immediately noticed the mess. And the blood: on the ground, it was like a giant, horrifying and grotesque smear. And there was always the smell, which filled everything, almost material. I threw up. I had to get out of there, but the macabre power of what I saw and the hope of finding someone alive kept me from running.

The parents’ bodies were behind the sofa, at the foot of the stairs leading upstairs. The murderer had attacked them savagely, it was as if they had been devoured. I retched again.

That’s when I heard the growls. It was coming from above. It was clearly an animal growl, so I thought back to the big dog in the photo, and connected it to the savagery of the scene, and started to get a good idea of what might have happened. pass there. I hadn’t yet completed the mission Grace had given me, so I went upstairs.

I tried to walk quietly. The staircase led to a hallway decorated with children’s drawings. And there was blood, again, and pieces of something that I didn’t try to identify. Everything suddenly became silent. I stopped, listening. The silence continued, then the growls resumed, coming from a room to the left.

I moved slowly, the gun pointed at the door. The growls stopped, again. I walked past the door. She was ajar. From inside came an infernal chewing sound. I pushed open the door, and stepped back, illuminating the interior with my lamp.

It was not what I had imagined. The two twins were there, leaning over what was left of the big dog. The boy looked up at me, and he started to growl. His sister remained focused on her task, her head buried in the disembowelled carcass of the mastiff. I got dizzy, and all I could hear was the sickening sound of the kid’s jaws. Finally she stopped, and they both stared at me, their faces smeared with blood and raw flesh, with a look a little sorry, like two children caught stealing candy. I was not prepared for this. I had a second of hesitation, and the boy took the opportunity to attack me. The little bastard was fast, and he had time to bite my left hand before I blew his skull off. The bang stunned me. The little girl let out a scream and tried to get up, but she slipped on something slimy. She tipped back, her head hitting the corner of a chest of drawers. There was a sharp crack, and she went limp. Her body sagged slowly against the piece of furniture on which she had just broken her neck.

The house fell silent again. I caught my breath, and I remained without doing anything for several minutes. Dazed, I went back downstairs and left the house. Only then did I put my gun away, lit a cigarette, and started shaking.

I was in shock, and even though the brat hadn’t bitten me very deeply, my hand was hurting the hell out of me, if that expression was appropriate in this case. I couldn’t call the cops, I couldn’t. So I did the most ultimately stupid thing of the evening, during which I had nevertheless accumulated world-class bullshit: I went to Grace’s.

She took good care of me, as she always had. She took care of my hand. But after that, while I was drinking a pick-me-up, I felt a terrible twinge, and it was as if my arm was covered with molten lava.

Everything got confused, the pain pierced me, I became pain. And something else too. Visions of the two cherubs devouring the dog assaulted me. It was very real, and the smell was there again, in Grace’s living room, all around me. So I wanted her. Not sexually. Well, not just sexually. I took a step forward. She took a step back. Then I threw myself on her.

You might think that I no longer have any lucidity, but that is not the case. Unfortunately. I am still perfectly conscious, and I remember everything. On the other hand, I feel that my own will and my free will are diminishing as the hot lava from my bitten arm pours into the rest of my body. I know what I have to do now that everything is in writing. I still have four bullets in my magazine, that’s way more than I need. I’m gonna put an end to this dirty business, it’s the least I can do for Grace.

But before, I’m going to take a last bite, all that really made me very hungry.

Ethereal Stories: Air between the ears

Steven, a father-to-son unicorn breeder for 18 generations, was upset. The breeding season was not looking good, but then not good at all.
Already, Lucette had started making milk way too soon—all that wasted colostrum was frustrating. And then, for a few months, they had all had aberrant requirements for their end of gestation. Strawberries in the middle of winter, a great classic, it was just the warm-up; afterwards, we had moved on to a cup of eternal snow sprinkled with Aji Charapita peppers picked on a full moon night, or three grams of cerberus skin diluted in original fruit compote, these kinds of little cravings that are easy to satisfy.
Steven had been limping since his encounter with the Cerberus in question, he had been bitten by a snake and was still nursing his chilblains; frankly, he was sick of it. On the verge of dropping everything to convert to a quieter job, Steven. Anything would do, horn polisher for Minotaurs or toilet paper keeper in a supermarket, anything. He sighed. He needed air, that’s all.

— Steven, have you finished changing my litter?
— No, Leontine, not yet.
— So, what are you doing daydreaming on your pitchfork? These edelweiss are not going to distribute themselves!
— Yes, Leontine.

Nah, frankly, there was no worse job than raising unicorns. Especially since they had unionized. In Grandpa Robert’s time, they would never have dared to ask for anything other than straw in their unicorn boxes. Edelweiss, frankly! The price per kilo was staggering, and it didn’t absorb anything, either! Steven suspected them of testing his resilience. Or his bank account.
And then what an idea, frankly, to breed creatures whose gestation time is twenty-two years. Twenty-two years ! We had time to clean out the boxes before having the privilege of seeing a unicorn!
Fortunately, unicorn hair sold very well on the black market. As long as they didn’t find out, he could easily avoid bankruptcy.

— Steven, tell me, with the friends we would have liked to try…
Steven, sweating from the effort of stirring the edelweiss, painfully sat up and barked:
— What now ?
— Still ? How so again? We didn’t ask you today!

Steven opened his mouth to deliver a scathing repartee, then snapped it dryly. Appealing to Lorette’s intellect was a bad idea; it had been fallow for a good two centuries already, apparently. Arguing with her was like playing chess with a pigeon; no matter your level, the pigeon will just knock over all the pieces, shit on the board and proudly strut around like it’s won.
Steven sighed; Lorette pinched her nostrils and continued, stubbornly:

— With the friends, we would like to test the Kangoo Jump.
— The what?
— The Kangoo Jump, you know, the springs you put under your feet? We saw that on TV.

Ah, yes, TV. Installing the small screen for them in the stables was not the idea of the century, it was confirmed day after day. Fearing the worst, he followed the matriarch to the TV, then waited for the commercial to agree to reappear. Between two day creams with Aloe Vera, he finally discovered the machine, terrified.

— But… it’s for humans!
— You’ll manage to adapt that to our clogs.
— And have you seen the price? You need four of them!
— Yeah, oh, it’s not that bad. We will each do it in turn.
— And you’re sure it’s a great idea, at the end of gestation, like that? Aren’t you supposed to preserve yourselves, be reasonable?

Lucette contented herself with staring at him in silence. All the air from the Himalayas circulated between his two ears, without encountering the slightest neural obstacle. Steven lost himself in the visualization of a snow-white pigeon, decked out in a golden horn, trying to move a chess pawn. He snorted to come back to reality, ran a sweaty hand over his face and capitulated:
— Pink or blue, the Kangoo Jump?

***

— Hiiiii look, Steven, they are there!
— Yeah, great, wow…
Insensitive to the overflowing enthusiasm of their breeder, the unicorns jostled around the box just placed in front of the stables. The air sparkled, filled with the sequins they let loose in their glee.
— Go Steven, opeeeeeeeen!
Obviously, it was up to him to do all the work, since they were incapable of holding scissors, these devils. He tore open the tape and pulled the coveted items out of their cases, like Arthur pulling Excalibur from the rock. A ray of sunlight illuminated the pearly purple of the shoes. The unicorns sighed together, conquered.
— Well, you have drawn lots who will start?
The tension rose suddenly. Steven realized that several unicorns bore traces of hoof kicks, even bite marks. His instinct for survival screamed death; he raised his arms and bellowed, just in time to avoid the carnage:
— OKEYYYYYYYYYY, calm down, it’s up to me! And the first that jostles me will go last!
They stopped.
— Splash, splash, you’ll be the one to start, one, two, thriiiiiiiii… Lisa-Rose!
— But…
— And all those who discuss will be deprived of compote tonight!
Thirty-four adult unicorns sulked, while young Lisa-Rose waddled contentedly. Steven stuffed the toes of the shoes with cotton, then equipped the unicorn with the Kangoo Jump.

— Above all, be careful, huh?
— Yes yes…
— Don’t go too fast or too far… watch out for the lake…
— But yes…
— And if anything happens, you come get me, huh?
She rushed forward without deigning to answer, dropping sequins and rainbows, hopping even more as she passed in front of her upset comrades.
— That’s awesome!

Steven, reassured by his apparent balance, went back to shoveling his edelweiss. It was Loralie who came to alert him, about twenty minutes later.
— Steven? Lisa-Rose still hasn’t come back, and yet it’s our turn! She cheats!
Steven frowned.
— Let’s not be too quick to judge. Where did she go?
— In the forest ! To hide and go on all afternoon, I’m sure! She cheeps!
Leaving Loralie to her pigeonish hysteria, Steven went in search of the big offender.
— Lisa-Roooooose! Youhou, Lisa-Roooooose!
After a few minutes of fruitless searching, he twisted slightly and put his hand over his mouth to change the sound of his voice:

— The stupid-unicorn is called to the reception, I repeat, the stupid-unicorn is called to the reception!
Her hysterical laughter made all the birds in the area fly away.
— Hey, Steven, it’s not very nice to call me that…
— Lisa-Rose? But where are you ? I do not see you !

— Look higher.
Steven looked up and launched into a very interesting part of “Where’s Wally.” Searching for a white animal in a birch forest, frankly… A burst of purple color caught his eye on the only ash tree in the corner. Lisa-Rose hung from a branch, her legs dangling, her horn deeply planted in the gnarled wood.
— Steven…Steven! Can you stop laughing for five minutes, please?
The rancher wiped away his tears and stood up. Unable to keep his seriousness, he fell back into laughter.

— STEVEN!
— Yes, yes Lisa-Rose, sorry.
— You come look for me ?
His voice broken by his efforts, he shook his head no, then explained to her:
— First I’m going to need to go back to the stables for a ladder and a saw. I’m coming back, above all, don’t move!
He gave her a bright smile and walked back to the building. Before getting her out of there, he had one urgent thing to do: order two pairs of Kangoo Jump for each unicorn present at the breeding, as well as a camera.
The week was going to be fun, after all.

The legend of Lilfire

This week, I’m bringing you something a little different than usual. My cousin Alice had an accident. She’s fine but she has a broken leg and was entitled to a long recovery time so to keep her busy I offered her a little collaboration. She illustrated this story and the story you are about to discover was written by our four hands.

The story is a bit more childish than usual but I hope you’ ‘ll enjoy it.

The legend of Lilfire

Lilfire stomped forward. He had just argued with his father again: Burninflame was a 625-year-old Great Ruby Dragon and he couldn’t stand that his youngest son didn’t have a job.
“Learn from your brothers!” Roarloud has worked at the forge since he was 193 years old. When Fierelmet enlisted in the royal guard, he was just 181 years old. Even Brurn found a job at the mine before he turned 207! And you, at 212, you’re still here!
Lilfire would have liked to make his father proud of him, but he was not like his brothers. He wasn’t tall and muscular, and his flames were barely enough to start a wood fire. Every time he applied somewhere, a stronger dragon got the job.
When he passed the forge, Roarloud called out to him.
“Fuck it!” Did you argue with Dad again? Anyway, I have good news. I registered you.
Lilfire grabbed the yellowed sheet her brother held out to her, on which was written in gold letters:
“Hear, hear dragons and dragons!”
The king is looking for a dragon to defend his treasure. In order to choose the strongest among you, a big sports competition is organized. At the end of the latter, the dragon with the best score will have the immense honor of becoming the guardian of the royal treasure.
If you are over 180, register with the palace steward. »
Roarloud had signed him up for a sports competition. Organized by the king himself, what’s more. And that was supposed to be good news…
“Roarloud, I can’t go. I will make a fool of myself. What would I do in a sports competition?
“I’ll train you!” And then imagine how happy Daddy would be if you won!
“But I will never win!”
There’s only one way to find out…

They had a month to prepare Lilfire for the tests of the competition: acrobatic flight with a block of stone, camouflage, spitting fire on moving targets, and finally, the fight against knights. Unlike his brother, Lilfire was far from optimistic. They started with camouflage since it was the only test he felt capable of tackling. Indeed, he had inherited his mother’s dark gray scales, which made him look like a big rock.
For the other events, Roarloud called upon the skills of Brurn and Fierelmet in order to prepare Lilfire as well as possible. Brurn for bodybuilding and endurance, Fierelmet for combat techniques; himself would take care of the fire-spitting.
With such a demanding training and such demanding teachers, Lilfire did not see the time passing and one morning, without warning, the sun rose on the first day of the competition.

A colorful crowd crowded the drawbridge to enter the huge arena of the castle. Wooden bleachers stood all around, set up for the occasion.
Five large rocks were arranged in a circle in the center of the arena. Lilfire paid no heed to the cheers of the crowd and headed straight for them. Four other dragons did the same. Lilfire didn’t dare meet their eyes, he concentrated on his block and remembered his choreography. He had to keep his rock in the air for more than three minutes by performing as many tricks as possible to score points. A sound of the gong announced the start of the test. All the dragons took off at the same time, except Lilfire.
He climbed on his rock, dug his claws into the roughness of the rock and flapped his wings. Gradually he rose. During this time the other dragons had stung to recover their block helped by their momentum. Lilfire, meanwhile, continued to climb. When he was about six meters above the ground, he dropped his rock. He flew another ten meters and swooped down after the huge stone. He passed her, spun around and picked her up on her back. The shock took his breath away and nearly knocked him off balance. He hovered for a few moments then, mobilizing his last strength, did a loop. The boulder fell right back to where it started and Lilfire landed right behind it. Another sound of the gong announced the end of the first round.

A huge blackboard had been set up to record the scores. For each event, the first earned 50 points, the second 40 and so on. When Lilfire looked up at the painting, he couldn’t believe his eyes. Missia, a female mole who failed to lift her boulder, was last with 10 points. Feurlet, a dragon with electric blue scales, followed her with 20 points. Foudre, another dazzling golden female, was third with 30 points, while Veryfierce, a large pine green male, won the class with 50 points. Lilfire was therefore second and gained 40 points. Unbelievable !

For the rest, a section of the arena had been dismantled, so that it was now open to the forest. The camouflage test was simple: the dragons had one minute to blend into the landscape. The first to be seen lost. The five competitors lined up at the edge of the forest, and, at the sound of the gong, dashed between the trees.
Missia, who thanks to her dull dress had blended in with the earth, came second. Veryfierce, who had melted into the foliage of the trees, finished third. Lightning with his golden scales was the penultimate, ahead of Feurlet and his dazzling blue cuirass. Lilfire, transformed into a rock, won the test. He was now leading the competition with 90 points! He couldn’t believe it.
But his joy quickly waned. The last two trials to come were the ones he dreaded the most.

Thirty yards from the five dragons, targets were mounted on rails.
Feurlet passed first and hit seven out of ten targets. Veryfierce burned nine, Missia five. Lightning burned them all at once. It was Lilfire’s turn. The sound of the gong startled him. He inflated his chest to the maximum, felt his fire pocket fill up and spat as hard as he could. He didn’t hit any targets.
However, he didn’t have time to mope because he already had to prepare for the last test, the fight.

Lilfire was the second to pass. Three knights in armor were waiting for him on the sand. At the sound of the gong, the first, equipped with a flail and a shield, threw himself on him. Lilfire curled up on himself and leapt above his opponent, without the flail touching him. He landed right next to the second knight who was pointing a spiked spear at him. He mowed it down with a swipe of his paw, while sweeping the first one with his tail. Seeing his two teammates on the ground, the third, armed with two long swords, slowly backed away. He was trying to buy time to allow the others to get up. Lilfire didn’t let this fool her and instead of attacking her directly, he knocked out the other two once and for all. Alone with his two swords, the last knight rushed at Lilfire. As Fierelmet had taught him, he blew out a thick plume of smoke from his nostrils to blind his opponent before ripping his swords off with a sharp claw movement and putting him out of action.

The king stood upright on the dais as he addressed the crowd to close the competition.
“At the end of this historic sporting competition we have a happy winner! I would like to congratulate you all for the magnificent show you have given us. Without further ado, the name of the new guardian of my royal treasure: Veryfierce! Congratulations ! »
The crowd cheered cheerfully but the king resumed, silencing the cheers.
“However, my dear friends, he was not the only one to impress us! Another competitor stood out for his originality and above all for his vigor in combat. Thus, I decided to reward also the second of this competition. You see, my daughter, Princess Iloa, needs a valiant protector. So I designate Lilfire as Princess Iloa’s official bodyguard! Kudos to him! »
Lilfire choked at this announcement. Roarloud at his side gave him a strong slap on the back to congratulate him. Fierelmet and Brurn spat flames into the sky to proclaim their joy. The crowd cheered him and Veryfierce, and among all these people, Lilfire saw a large ruby dragon. Burninflame looked at him and in his eyes shone a gleam of pride.

Alice is 16 (well soon 17 years old) but she is already quite a talented artist. She just start her blog but I know it, there will be soon tones of good sketches and photos and other amazing things. If you wanna discover her univers, please go check her blog :

https://gribouillesketchbook.wordpress.com/

Ethereal Stories: The Song of the Bats

Earth is fucked. In Joshua’s opinion, there is nothing to salvage. The fields are dry, the limestone soil aborts its young before they bud. The sick sun only gives the city a handful of hours a day – or what’s left of it – to feed the plants. Either way, his meager heat isn’t enough to stimulate their wrinkled leaves. The stems lengthen desperately, the shoots become exhausted and spread out the better to return to the earth.
Since the Fall, this planet is nothing more than a big corpse.

— I disagree.
An old plastic bag full of dirt in hand, Eli shakes his head.
— There are solutions, he insists.
— Are you talking about your garden on the third floor?
— That works. I grow more and more stuff.

The third is the last part of the building that did not collapse. The walls are torn without logic, like cutting a sheet by pulling on its ends. It is reached by a staircase that lets in the rain – when it deigns to fall. Eli requisitioned it to start a vegetable garden there and, since then, it has disappeared for hours over his head. Joshua doesn’t care. He takes the opportunity to read old books that he collects from the common library, when he’s not fixing something old or testing his connection. In vain. Few still manage to access the NewWeb today.

— Hey, Josh.
— What ?
— You would not want to let go of your machines, sometimes?

His machines. That’s what Eli calls his tampered radio and the computer he managed to revive. With the energy he diverts, he manages to light them for an hour a day. It’s little, it doesn’t do him much good. But that’s all he has left of his great pre-Fall passion.

— Why ?
— I have something to show you.
Joshua shrugs. He abandons his things to get up.
— Can you take the pallets by the way?

He catches them without answering. The weathered wood is clear against its black skin. He strokes it briefly to check for splinters, then he loads them onto his shoulders. He is muscular, much more than Eli. Even if he never did anything for it.
Joshua has always preferred the silence of a bedroom to the sun of a summer day. It never really worked before. It was… complicated. It’s always been complicated. He is one of those who welcomed the end of the world with relief.
He climbs the stairs at his own pace. Outside, dusk awaits him. If the building they are squatting in was once a proud building, it is now nothing more than an amputated pillar. Broken walls and, in the middle, a pile of pots and planters where Eli spreads his plants.

— You can put it there.
Joshua drops his weight.
— Come.

He does not understand what the other expects of him. He was never good at gardening. If he tried to pull a shoot from his soil, he would probably break the stem. When he wants to water them, he drowns them, and he can’t guess what disease is turning their green leaves into funny yellow spots. No, Joshua does not understand plants. Their nature intimidates him.
But he likes the little cries of bats that rise as night falls.

— Eli?
— It’s over there.

He sees her blonde hair fluttering on her neck. Cut with tears, the rough locks are surly forms. Like leaves scorched by the sun. When he passes his hand over it, the material reminds him of the dead earth they tread on every day. This too hard soil where nothing grows anymore.
Almost nothing.
Every time he looks out the window, he sees only a dry world that is dying. He does not understand why Eli strives to plant his little seeds. Even if he likes the shape of the leaves of the tomato plants.

— here.
An empty dirt container. Good.
— Looked.

Since he’s the one asking, Joshua leans down unbelievingly. He observes and looks at this soft and humid matter which seems to be moving. She swarms. Move of his own volition. It’s weird, but he understands better what is going on by discerning the pink shapes which move in the middle of each other.

— What’s this ?
— Earthworms.
— It’s ugly.

Elijah laughs. His voice, more powerful than his, explodes in the night.

— It’s not made to be beautiful.
— It’s sticky.

Of course, Joshua knows earthworms. He’s seen it a long time ago. Several years.

— And it’s crawling.
— I say. It’s not very pretty to see.
— Why are you putting them there?
— For the compost.

Compost. He’s heard that word many times, but he realizes he doesn’t really know the definition. Compost. It looks like compote. Except he doesn’t want to bite it.

— I do not understand.

He never understands gardening, anyway. And he doesn’t understand why that makes Eli smile either. Instead, he would be offended.

— It’s for growing plants. To feed them.
— And after ?
— There is no after. We mix it with the soil and wait for it to grow.

He takes his hand to drag him to his pots. Not those who sleep outside, no. Those in the big greenhouse. Where he sees two small green circles which are probably future tomatoes.

— That’s life.

— It’s plants.

— Exactly.

Eli strokes the ceramic rim of a pot. Joshua does not imitate him. He hates this material which catches his fingers.

— We haven’t been able to plant anything for years now. The fields are bursting. But that… That, that pushed. With a little effort and patience.
He caresses the underside of an incredibly green leaf.

— Of course it’s nothing compared to what we could do before. It takes time and we don’t even have enough to eat. But it pushes.

There are zucchini, more, far. Their long serrated leaves make it think of teeth. Those of bats.
Joshua is very fond of bats. The curled up cocoon that their bodies form when they hide in an old parasol. Looks like a twisted seed ready to bloom.

— What are the worms for? he asks, pointing to the tray.
— It enriches the soil. They aerate the earth by digging holes, it also promotes the penetration of water, and… It’s complicated to explain, but that’s why the earth isn’t completely punctured.
Aeration, enrichment. It’s fuzzy in Joshua’s head, but Eli says it with such conviction. He sees him running off to grab a book – a big, heavy book with a cracked spine.

— I picked this up at the Chardons bookstore. Must believe that gardening did not interest the looters, he explains by turning the pages. There are things to do. Even if it’s shit, we can still grow plants, Josh.
He catches her eye. Eli has eyes that are too blue, clear as a glass of water. Eyes that can’t lie.
— And as long as you can grow plants, there’s life.

A gust of wind stirs the leaves around them. Those of the shoots that do not sleep in the greenhouse, under artificial lights. Joshua scans the material they have amassed here. These treasures that they struggle to keep alive with their stolen generator.
These little lives that sink their roots into a black earth.

— Maybe.

Most of the time, he doubts that anyone will ever be able to grow as many stems out of the ground as they need. He got used to old cans found in an abandoned apartment that hasn’t been stripped yet. But when Eli’s gaze lights up for a sprout that points the tip of its muzzle, it’s stronger than him.
He finds himself hoping.

The color of water

Today is suicide prevention day. Following the suicide of a friend some years ago, I told you about my attempt. Today I just take this opportunity to pay homage to her with this little unpretentious fiction.

The color of water

The water seemed beautiful to her, Maggie planted her tiptoe there. After three long hours of walking under the August sun punctuated by her brother’s grunts, she wanted more than anything to dive there into this transparency: to wash her body of the sweat that ran from her neck to her lower back. and the head under water, not to hear any more its jeremiads. The picnic and the first hike traditionally marked the beginning of a family summer vacation.

The Copenhagen apartment abandoned for two weeks, a journey traced, organized, timed, from the month of January by the mother had begun. But from summer to summer, disconnecting from everyday life became less easy. Parents always found an excuse to check their emails, from work or parent-teacher associations, whatever! Thomas anchored his headphones to his ears at length, only Maggie survived without wires, connected only to the nature around her, looking up at the peaks and the foliage, listening to those of the birds which did not fly away frightened by the disputes about the next stage chosen… She walked with her eyes in the green, in search of a soothing rhythm, her head still too full of the metallic noises of the city.

No need to strive to carry on any conversation whatsoever during this forced march; and then anyway, with Thomas, no more discussion was possible: paradoxically, he seemed to be angry with the whole world since he had won the congratulations of the jury in the final exams of “Gymnasium”*, and the earth whole, it started with her twin who she had only just passed her exam in June. Their aspirations were like disjointed without them really realizing it themselves.

The young girl brought up the rear because she was lingering longer. “Stop hanging around, slug! his father had repeated all morning. Maggie no longer heard, she breathed in, inhaled the smell of dry thorns and smiled at the butterflies in the tall grass, trying to guess the shape of the pebbles under her shoes. Why come this far if it was to run again? In order to be able to hold forth in society in September: we swallowed so many kilometers, on a terrible drop in altitude in less than a fortnight! Competition was the very essence of his parents. We didn’t play tennis: we had to be ranked; we didn’t cook: we made the recipes of the great chefs; we didn’t play the piano: we went to the conservatory…

They had settled down under the welcoming and generous shade of an umbrella pine. Her mother’s pride would come out of her backpacks: terrines, a seasonal vanilla fruit tart, an organic fruit juice, nothing but homemade! So Thomas might grumble that he would have preferred a sandwich, crisps and coke.
Maggie was not hungry. She took off her oversized T-shirt and her sports pants, put them next to her shoes. She entered the wave gradually, she seemed afraid to disturb the clear and soft expanse that enveloped her and engulfed her as delicately as a silk blanket, her silhouette was so frail. The young girl swam in apnea as long as she could, underwater, her weight vanishing. When she stuck her head out, she was halfway between the two banks.

She stared on her back then sat up to scrutinize the couple formed by her parents. Neither of them spoke or touched. Like the evenings in the living room. Like the mornings in the kitchen. They exchanged only in the presence of the weekend guests transformed in spite of themselves into relays of the conjugal word a formidable couple, Erik and Cathie! They are on all fronts, everything is successful for them, nothing ever frightens them, nothing is impossible! Cathie had double the work, you think with twins!

Thomas, giving in to his perpetual bad mood, had dissociated himself from the now ill-matched duo, sitting on a dead trunk lying down; she could only make out his already hunched back. She turned and in a slow breaststroke headed for the opposite sandy edge. The more she moved away from them, the more her breathing calmed down. Her heart seemed to be beating better, less painful. Her muscle mass having melted in recent months, the physical efforts were beginning to cost her. But there, between the drops, she felt lighter, almost gone. If Erik and Cathie had taken the time to raise their heads, her naked thinness would have pierced their eyes, her protruding ribs, her sharp elbows and the hole in his belly, her body so thin that she trembled at the slightest breath, they would have looked at their girl ghost, failing to touch the truth.

Maggie totally crossed the river in the carrier current, on the other side, she sat down and tried to take stock. If she went deeper into the forest now, when would they realize she was missing? She didn’t want to worry them, but something in there was consuming her, a force that unbalanced her while pushing her beyond the boundaries set by her family. When one is not armed for life, what escape route is there? When the abyss awaits you, where to hide? She plunged discreetly into the wood; For a long time, she did not meet anyone.

— Thomas, have you seen Maggie? inquired Cathie, who was handing her son a slice of pie.
— She doesn’t need to be watched, Mom!
— She must have stayed a bit behind, added Erik, as usual!

Thomas approached the water and picked up his sister’s small bundle of clothes. The shimmer of the sun on the undulating surface created flashes, blinded him. On the other bank, he thought he saw a small family set up to have a picnic as well. Parents and children sitting by the river had fun trying to ricochet. Their flat pebbles dipped unfailingly and yet they laughed.

The End

Maggie, vi har savnet dig i mange år allerede og alligevel havde vi ikke set dit ubehag. Jeg håber, at hvor du er nu, hviler du i fred.