This Is Our Last Stand (short story)

« – From the beginning, I knew you would be trouble!

• Then why did you stayed with me? »

B. and F. were once again in a middle of a fight. The arguments were getting more and more regulars. They both asked themselves if they still loved one another. Both thoughts yes, but somehow, they managed to ruin their relationship.

« – I was hoping that I was wrong… That you’ll prove me wrong!

• This was a test then? All this time, this was just some kind of game for you?
• And you failed!
• I’m glad ! Not all failures are bad, I’ve just learned that because of you, thanks! »

This was spiraling, every day, the guts wrenching bouts kept getting more violent. They both felt that dreadful feeling; what will happen the day the words will not be enough anymore? They knew that if they’ll continue in that way, it will turn physical. They knew, they knew! But they loved each other, that’s the worst part of love. Loving to the point of reaching a point of no return. Their love will turn into hate. If they had to fall into this dark corner, they would fall in it together. What if? What if it was a necessary step to finally stop the downward spiral ? No, love, love is a complicated feeling, but to reach the point of physical and verbal violence, it will turn life into a living nightmare. But… this is love? Love right? It supposed to beat everything isn’t it?

« – No one will ever want you anyway.

• I was only with you because I pities you. I’m way too good for you.
• I gave you everything!
• Good, it wasn’t enough. You are a failure.
• Yet, you’re the one who slowly but surely undermining our relationship.
• You played you fair part in destroying it, hypocrite… »

When, how did all started to crumble? It’s strange, but both couldn’t figures out the starting point of the downfall of their relationship. No, actually, they both had their little ideas, but no, this wasn’t something that started this ongoing conflict. It was something lurking in the shadow of their love, something dark, in both of them. They probably are the kind of people who want their lover’s soul. They want everything from the other, taking everything. Passion? Yes, that had to be it. Passionate crime… that what’s will happen if none of them admit defeat. But no! The relationship will end, because one of them have to be defeated by the other, it’s no fun anymore, it’s serious.

« – When I look in your eyes, I don’t recognize the person I’ve fallen in love with.

• How could I be so stupid. I should have known that something was wrong with you since the beginning. Too many red flags.
• See, you’re weak. Stupid even. You’re stupid. I’m ashamed to be seen with you since the beginning. Should have listened to my friends.
• Speaking of stupid, your friends aren’t the sharpest tools in the shed. But hey, you choose them.
• I have chosen you!
• Did you? Can you choose who you’ll fall in love with? That would be a first! Or you have really chosen me because nobody would love you. I’m glad all this time with spend together was a waste of your time. I loved every minute with you. It’s over, I’ll get over it, but I did grow during our relationship. For you, it’s a waste of time you’ll never get back. »

This was that last phrase that ended their relationship.

Their was love, at last.

Jaskiers

Publicité

Finding Beauty Again (Merci Proust)

As I was reading Proust, the part when he is on a train on his way to a thermal station where he discovers during a halt a beautiful young farm girl. Just the sight of this beautiful woman gave him back the taste of Beauty, some kind of meaning in his life, I was about to experience first hand that experience a few hours after having read his words.

I was taking a break from playing a video-game, smoking on my balcony and watching peoples passing by. I love watching people. It’s sound creepy, maybe it is, but after staying for years, more than a decade in fact, in a little village with almost nobody walking by, (or if you saw someone, you’ll definitely know that person), after that dryness human experience of seeing little to nobody new, living in a city full of people that you don’t know and don’t know you is an exhilarating experience. It’s almost like you’re living again, reborn, back in society.

So, there I was, smoking my cigarette, observing life and society going about their life when I spot a beautiful woman. Not the first one that I’ve spotted, high up in my balcony, but after reading Proust, that sight was powerful and full of meaning.

There I was, experiencing what a man who died one century ago wrote about.

This is the magic of literature. Well, one of the many perks of reading a book.

That lady was walking her littler black dog, making me think of a Bob Dylan song, «A Hard Rain A-Gonna Fall» when he sings: I met white men who walked a black dog.

No, the simple sight of an attractive woman leads me to music. Life is strange, but art found a way to make it magic. Does art have a defined function? I don’t know, and I wish not, because it would put art in a shackle. We, human, have to categorize everything, it’s in our nature, everything has to be in a box.

Art isn’t in a box, well, it is in every box and a box itself.

And art was what I was seeing. I was looking at Beauty.

And that thought came out of my brain: go, talk to this lady, tell her something!

Hell no! Hell no! The time have changed, and for good, I think. We are living in a time where yelling at a lady passing by is not ok.

What if I was in the lady’s situation and someone I don’t know yell for me to give him or her my phone number? I would keep my head down and go away. We never know with people nowadays.

I kept watching her, I wasn’t hiding myself, it was already weird enough for me to look at her, if she ever rises her head toward me, I didn’t wanted to scare her.

And then, I started imagining her life. She was probably in her early twenty’s, probably a student, walking her family dog, taking a walk in the sun. Did she have a boyfriend? A girlfriend? How happy was she in her life? What was the cross she had to carry?

And then, she left, took a nearby street, disappearing from my eyes.

I rediscovered Beauty, at least for a little while.

Thanks to Marcel Proust, whenever I see Beauty, I feel grateful and alive. I’ve found an answer to a question I wasn’t asking myself before reading him.

Extract (in French) from Proust book; A l’ombre des jeunes filles en fleurs :

«Était-ce parce que je ne l’avais qu’entr’apercue que je l’avais si belle ? Peut-être. D’abord, l’impossibilité de s’arrêter auprès d’une femme, le risque de ne pas la retrouver un autre jour lui donnent brusquement le même charme qu’à un pays la maladie ou la pauvreté qui nous empêchent de le visiter, ou qu’aux jours si ternes qui nous restaient à vivre, le combat où nous succomberons sans doute. De sorte que, s’il n’y avait pas l’habitude, la vie devrait paraître délicieuse à des êtres qui seraient à chaque heure menacés de mourir, – c’est-à-dire à tous les hommes. Puis, si l’imagination est entraînée par le désir de ce que nous pouvons posséder, son essor n’est pas limité par une réalité complètement perçue dans ces rencontres où les charmes de la passante sont en relation directe avec la rapidité du passage. Pour peu que la nuit tombe et que la voiture aille vite, à la campagne, dans une ville, il n’y a pas un torse féminin, mutilé comme un marbre antique par la vitesse qui nous entraîne et le crépuscule qui le noie, qui ne tire sur notre cœur, à chaque coin de route, du fond de chaque boutique, les flèches de la Beauté, de la Beauté dont on serait parfois tenté de se demander si elle est en ce monde autre chose que la partie de complément qu’ajoute à une passante fragmentaire et fugitive notre imagination surexcitée par le regret.»

Jaskiers

Just Another Haunted Hotel Room Story – Part 1

FYI: I am not fluent in English, I’m trying to be at least. Sorry for the potentials mistakes. Feel free to correct me in the comment section.

—

Jack T. had landed in Los Angeles, California, at 3 AM from a red-eye flight from Seattle.

After renting a car, he drove south, toward San Diego, where he had a book signing session on the afternoon for his last work, « Travel With A King ». Not his proudest nor his masterpiece. It was a book with no soul, just for the money.

Since this incident in this fancy hotel in Colorado a couple of years ago, he didn’t felt that the writing mojo he used to have was still there. It disappeared in the fire, along with his favorite typewriter, that good old Adler, his loyal comrade since the beginning of his writing career had disappeared. He also lost his wife and little boy. They aren’t dead, they just don’t want to see him ever again since that dreadful day.

On the interstate 5, driving while Jim Morrison sang lyrics that matched the present moment about driving down a freeway after midnight, Jack felt the heavy weight of sleep affecting his eyelid, therefore his driving. He decided to not taunt the devil, and to stop at the first motel with available vacancy to catch a shower and sleep.

After passing the camp Peddleton, he arrived at Carlsbad where a motel with a view on the Pacific Ocean was available.

He parked his car and took a quick look at the hotel. It was a reflex of his job, he used to think, to take time to watch how things looked and made him feel.

This hotel had nothing really noticeable. It was a regular motel, on three level. The picture perfect of an American west coast hotel. No balcony, doors aligned on three levels directly accessible from the outside. You could stay and watch every tenant going in or out of their room.

At the desk, a young man raised his head from his phone as Jack approached.

« – Welcome to the Mo’Hotel. In need of room? He said in a atone voice.

• Well… yes. It’s say on your billboard that their’s vacancy available. That’s why I’m here.
• Yeah… so?
• I’ll take a room buddy.
• Alright. Sea side view?
• Yeah, why not.
• It coast more with a view on the sea.
• Yeah, give me a room. I just want a good night of sleep.
• Room 313, the third floor. Here’s the key.
• Thanks.
• It’s 35$.
• Yeah, alright.
• Also, it’s a weird room.
• Sorry what?
• It’s a room with… things.
• What are you on about?
• Previous clients complained of noise, knocking on the door. They found their clothes and stuff in a mess, things displaced and weird things like that.
• Well, that’s sound fun. Do you have some creepy weirdos as client lately?
• You want my opinion?
• Yeah…
• It’s a ghost! It’s been going on for a bit now. Every time I have to go in this room, I do a little prayer even thought I don’t believe in God.
• Jesus! You surely know how to ease a client!
• There’s a weird feeling to that room. You’ll probably feel it.
• Alright. I just want to sleep, maybe a few hours of sleep will not disturb anything that linger here.
• Well, I hope for you. I’ve seen your face somewhere but I can’t remember where I saw it. Are you famous or something?
• No. I just write on papers for a living. Anyway, good night buddy.
• Yeah, good luck… night mister.
• Thanks! »

Jack started to think that hotels weren’t his things. Everytime, something weird happened when he rented a room, one time, it coasted him his mariage.

As he climbs the series of stairs, a feeling of dread took over his body. Every cells in his body was telling him to leave.

Jaskiers

Somewhere In The Middle Of Nowhere (A Short Story)

FYI: I am not fluent in English, I’m trying to be at least. Sorry for the potentials mistakes. Feel free to correct me in the comment section.

—

You know the saying : searching for a needle on a haystack?

Well, I am the needle, and the haystack is hundred and hundred of miles of snow, and I doubt someone will ever try to look for me, ever. They’re absolutely nothing except a gigantic blanket of thick white powder.

See, I’m an explorator, this isn’t my first time being all by myself, far, far away from civilisation.

But how the heck did I landed here you might ask.

Have you ever heard about the Dyatlov Pass mysterious incident?

If not, here the big lines for you : a bunch of experimented explorators take upon themselves to explore a deep, snowy and, of course, deserted area of the Oural in Russia in 1959.

Those guys never came back. When authorities finally decide to go search for them, they found a ripped tent, bloods, naked dead explorators, some badly injured, one near a tree with shredded feet, he probably tried to climb a pine tree, and the others are ether dead or missing.

They’ve investigated the area and they can’t explain what happened. A wild animal attack? No trace of bites nor lacerations. Lost? No! Like I said, those guys where experimented.

One of them going haywire? Probably.

Why naked? See, when you’re in serious hypothermia, something happens in your brain that make you loose your mind and confuse the coldness with hotness. And, in your tormented mind, you strip yourself from all of your clothes to try to cool yourself down. And you die. I’ve heard from survivors that hypothermia wasn’t the worse way to go. Once you lose your mind, the departing is painless. And, you know, the snow and the cold weather keep your body intact. So if you die in that way one day, your loved one will found your body preserved (if the snow hasn’t melted because wild animals and Mother Nature will feast on your body) and know that you departure was relatively peaceful.

Nah! Don’t thank me! I see the positive side of things whenever I can!

But wait, let’s go back to the dead explorators. What about this guy, found with atrocious injuries?

Well, this is not a normal thing. Did one of his comrade did this? Did he do that to himself ? Your guess is as good as mine.

During the investigation, some people living near the area said they saw a green light, a big one, flashing in the area where those poor dudes were supposed to be.

This wasn’t the first time they saw this flashing green light over there. And strange tales have been plaguing the area about what was behind this beam of light.

Military experiences? It’s Russia after all. they need to test their future death weapons somewhere! Every country as their own little testing ground for their weapons of mass destruction tries.

Those strange phenomena were occurring since a while back, from ways before the creation of weapons of mass destruction.

Those creepy tales where the reasons that this area was never explored.

What are those tales about? Strange creatures, strange noise… and like everything humanity can explain rationally, we blamed extraterrestrials beings.

And your truly narrator, respected mountain climber, explorator and all that jazz got caught in some stupid project.

Which was ; let’s try to understand once and for all the reasons of the death of these explorators.

We have gone, myself and five other adventurers, to fulfil this mission, sponsored by a big energy drink company, to solve these mystery.

At the beginning, all was fine. This isn’t mountain climbing. Just walking in deep snow for miles to a designated area, wich we reached.

While prepping for the night, we’ve heard this deep humming sound. It was resonating in our body.

And then the green light.

Screams. Of terror? Surprise? Excitment?

Well maybe, I remember swearing profusely until… I only remember being surrounded by green, a warm feeling and… nothing.

Until I woke up here, in the middle of nowhere. I have no clues about what happened to me or my pals nor where I am.

As I wrote those lines, I’m feeling very, very warm.

Too much warm !

I’ll take my cloths off, and go back to writing after cooling down.

I feel at peace.

Jaskiers

There’s A Killer On The Road (A Short Story)

FYI: I am not fluent in English, I’m trying to be at least. Sorry for the potentials mistakes. Feel free to correct me in the comment section.

—

« – Go now, let’s go !

• What the fuck happened over there, shit !
• Come on faster !
• Yeah, but will you tell me where are Tim and Bryan for Christ’s sake ?
• Dude, it’s all turned into a shit show in there !
• Well I guess I already know that because you came back alone ! What was those gunshots that I’ve heard ? It was supposed to be a fine calculated job, no victim !
• Dude, we thought we had it all under control. Everybody knew the plan and what he had to do but that… fucking security guard decided to be a hero ! Like he was paid enough to care about a robbery !
• If you let you guard down man, they’ll take you out for sure.
• What do you fucking know about a bank a robbery ! Shut the hell up and do your job, driving !
• Well excuse me for being worried about bringing home one dude instead of three ! What happened to them !
• Faster !
• I’m at full speed ! Get out if you think you could run faster you shit ! Answer me ! Where are Tim and Bryan ?!
• Tim got shot in the right shoulder by the security guard and Bryan was instantly killed by a bystander in the bank.
• What ? And you came out of it unharmed !
• Tim was badly injured but he could still fire his gun. We exchanged a copious numbers of bullets with the cops and the civilian. We killed the officer first, the bystander emptied is Smith&Wesson on us, Bryan took a bullet in the head… He died instantly. When the civilian started to reload, we took the opportunity to shower him with bullets and that wannabe hero died. Then, time started running out so Tim was guarding the civilians, I took care of the banker who opened the safe, took the money in my duffle bag and when I’ve came back, Tim was bleeding badly. I think that he had been hit sooner during the fire exchange with ether the civilian or the guard. At first, I’ve thought it was in the shoulder but he was hit in the left lung. Had to choose between him and the money so I’ve choose him but he refused and told me to go. To secure the money you see. He told me good luck and said he would cover my exit just in case someone decided to play hero… and here I am now.
• Fuck. For real ? Men you’re full of shit ! I knew you were a coward at the second I laid eyes on you !
• Men fuck you ! I did what had to be done !
• Come on, you could have carried Tim with you !
• Dude, I was literally carrying millions of dollars in a bag ! Money is heavy but you wouldn’t know this because you are our fucking gateway driver !
• Man, I can fire a gun, be careful with what you said ! Can’t believe you left Tim to get die or… Wait… shit ! Was he the one who fired his gun just before you came running to the car ?
• Yes I’ve told you, he was covering me !
• You fucking lier ! He was trying to shoot you because you’re the one who killed Bryan ! »

Rami died on the spot, shot by Aubrey.

« – You haven’t see that one coming isn’t it ? Getaway driver my ass ! »

Throwing the body out of the car, Aubrey drove West.

Nothing was going accordant to the plan, he saw the flashing lights of law enforcement cars reflecting on his rear view mirror.

Taking his handgun, he fired at the blinding lights. He received a salve of bullets as an answer.

The car stopped going forward almost immediately.

He had a two possibility now. Run or facing the cops.

To this day, the faith of the five million dollars is still unknown. But they’re tainted in blood, sweat, tears and betrayal, like every currency in this world.

Jaskiers

Meet The Unknown ( A Short Story)

FYI: I am not fluent in English, I’m trying to be at least. Sorry for the potentials mistakes. Feel free to correct me in the comment section.

—

Inspired by The Wanderer above the Sea of Fog by Caspar David Friedrich

Young man, young man. Go on adventures, take your youthfullness with you, see those lands that nobody never had the chance to discover. See for yourself. Not for another. Young man, go and don’t look back unless the landscape is worth a view ! Leave Young Man ! Live young man !

Young man, that’s how is grandpa’ used to call him. Those words came from a letter that he wroted to him, August, his grandson.

August loved to read this letter over and over. It gaved him a feeling of greatfullness, of mindfulness, of legitimity. He wanted to travel the world because his grandfather advised him to. Granting him with the autorisation to go on adventure, alone.

This letter was writed by a dying old men, full of love and wise advice for his grandson.

August spoked to his dad about this letter. It wasn’t really an easy relationship between his father and the old man. Exactly like it was between August and is dad. History as a tendancy to repeat itself now and then, to reciprocate the same kind of patterns.

August’s dad read the letter, frowned and gave the letter back to his son.

– Do whatever you want with this old man advice. Maybe his right, maybe not. Do as you please. Either way, I know you’ll do what you want even if I advised you against doing something this dangerous.

Of course, August would have love to have the opportunity to follow his grand father advice. He dreamed about sailing in the most dangerous seas, the most cruels and beautifull montains, the most mysterious forest, meeting curious and shady stranger. Living the adventure.

August left alone his family household directly after the end of the school year.

Taking the bear minimum, he started his journey on foot, he had planned to travel to Alaska. He wanted to face the cold weather and the unapologetic environnement of the wild snowy landscape of the great North. Leaving his warm californian lifestyle to confront the terrifying cold of the alaskian weather.

Maybe, he would meet those husky dogs, maybe he will encounter the notorious grizzly bear, and some royal looking moose. See some natives of this land who will teach him their way of living, learning the ropes of surviving in the wilderness.

And then ? Take the sea. Like an Hermann Melville, without any single experience of the sea. Not to hunt whales, but to live throughout the hardship of being a sailor. Why not enduring the devastating waves and winds of a storm ?

All in all, he wanted stories. Stories he could write and talk about like a Jack London.

August wasn’t blinded by the situation he would put himself in. He knew that it will not be an easy walk in the park.

But what’s an adventure without risk or danger ?

His journey will also be a learning curve, learning who he was, deep inside. And only him and his God would judge him troughout his adventure.

Young man, go West, or North, South, Est. Maybe all at the same time ! But move young man. Mouvement is life ! Take what’s yours : freedom !

Jaskiers

People are strange (A short story)

FYI: I am not fluent in English, I’m trying to be at least. Sorry for the potentials mistakes. Feel free to correct me in the comment section.

—

Letter received and diffused by The New-York Pines after the gruesome discovery of a dead body in Greenwich Village :

Greetings New-Yorkers and to the whole wide world ;

I discovered that I must be a strange fellow since my art wasn’t recognized the way I thought it would be.

This is annoying to put your heart and soul into something and seeing it end up being a disaster.

Maybe because people are strange, or maybe this is all me. I’m confused…

I’ve carefully choosed my subject and the scenery. The message that I wanted to share with the world completely falled apart. Nobody seems to have really understood my work, my art. I have put a lot of heart and effort into it. But people don’t seems to appreciate this art of mine.

It was beautifull, at least from my point of view.

Carefully hanged on an old telegraphic wire linking two building, hanging in the air and crossing a busy and scenic commercial street, there was exposed my masterpiece, for you all to see.

A torso that I, the « misunderstood artist » sculpted and carved into the most noble components. A component that no artist ever use, or very rarely.

Just a torso a real human torso, suspended in the air in the same pose as the Christ on his cross.

It took some time to do this… finding the right materials, the place… It took some thinking to hang my art piece in the right place. I won’t really go into details, a magician keep is secret, and so does the artist.

What kind of message I wanted to vehiculate ? This is the kind of questions no artists should answer ! Let it to your audience to build their own opinion. Why does the artist always need to explain his work ? It’s too easy if we revealed the true meaning of our art ! Let the individual to make is own assumption. That’s why art exist : make up your own minds, find the meaning, your personnal one.

Does a piece of art always have to make sense ? Hell no ! It have a meaning for sure, unconsciously, we give it one when we’re creating it. Personally, I let my instincts take the wheel of my creativity. Can’t go wrong if it is from a feeling deep within my soul that my art come to life.

But, like I said before, people are strange. Jim Morrison used to sing about this. He probably knew how strange it was to be an artist, a successful one, and seeing all those peoples, fans, journalists, critics, others artists, criticizing your work and at the same time your life. Wich is stupid !

Let me give you and advice : you have to differentiate the personnal life of an artists from his work. Those are two completely different entities.

And as for the way an artist express himself, one should not judge them to harshly.

Of course I say that in my own defense because I know that I have traumatised peoples by hangin a real human torso in a middle of a busy street.

Lessen, it was an experience, yes a awfull one but I did get reactions !

Next time, I’ll kill the guy in front of your innocents and pathetic eyes !

What I did was art. And it’s a disrespectful to call me a narcissistic and perverted killer !

I have made New-York a trend Again ! I’m the new Andy Warhol !

I am a king maker ! That is the name that I want you all, fucking maggots, to call me : The King Maker !

Sincerely ;

The King Maker.

Jaskiers

Just Some Unfortunates Sons Getaway (short story)

FYI: I am not fluent in English, I’m trying to be at least. Sorry for the potentials mistakes. Feel free to correct me in the comment section.

—

« – Arthur my men ! You got the goods haven’t you ?

• Have a guess Shepard.
• You’ve god that ironic smirk, the same that you have when you have a good hand !
• Jesus Shep’ ! You should’ve become a shrink.
• Yeah, I was studying for becoming one before coming in this hellhole.
• Speakin’ of hellhole, move your ass, give some space would ya !
• Fine ! So, who’s rolling it ?
• You fucker, you’re not waisting a single minute ! Man you have no idea how hard it is to find some good kush aroun’ here !
• Jeeeesssssus ! Give me the goods would ya’ !
• How polite my good sire ! Here you go now, do it quick and perfect, like my girl used to describe my performances in bed !
• Ah ! You dumbass ! I have a gal’ back home too !
• Yeah I know Dude but let’s talk ´bout this bitch after a good smoke.
• She’s cheatin’ on me brother !
• I bet ! Now come on, roll it up and we’ll talk ‘bout it all right ?
• Yeah… but high or na i’ll still be mad y’know.
• High with some music ?
• What ?
• You heard me you fuck !
• Did you fixe that fucking radio ?
• Yes sir !
• Man ! You are a women behind all that soldier gear of yours !
• Ah ! Wait what, come again ?
• Y’Know, women are good at multitaskin’. And look at you, find weed in this hell and spend is spare time fixing a radio !
• Buddy, you hittin’ on me or what ? Ah !
• Ah ! If I had a… y’now instead of a huge dick, I would gladly let you hit !
• What the fuck are you on !
• Nothing !
• That’s what I mean Shep’ ! Your acting high before even smoking !
• That’s my brain brotha’ !
• You ain’t got one ! Ah !
• Fuck you dude !
• Oh come one. Let me put some music.
• Yeah ! Do something usefull for once in your life Arthur !
• I’m serving my country !
• But you where obligated to do it !
• Still, am taking the good side of it !
• See that ! Killin’ vietnamese for good ol’ ‘mericcaaa !
• « Please show me the way to the next Whiksy bar ! »
• « Ah don’t ask why ! »
• « Ah don’t ask why ! »
• Fucking yes man ! Getting high with a good pal et The Doors !
• Your wanna light it up ?
• Nah ! You got the privilege !
• Merci monsieur !
• Ah ! French !
• Oui oui ! Pffffff ! My joint monsieur, big like baguette oui oui han han !
• Give me give me monsieur !
• Oui oui !
• Pfff. The grass… always greener… well more green after i smoke.
• If it become blue well it’s probably LSD then. So good thing it’s green. Very green !
• When the last time you tripped on acid ?
• Like… pfff… 2 month ago ?
• Where ? Pffff
• Hanoï !
• Dude ! Dangerous to trip there !
• Why ? Pfff
• The fifth column !
• Hemingway’s short story ? What are you on about !
• Pffff. I’m on weed you fuck !
• Cunt !
• Let’s not go british, French was enough !
• What did ya mean with… pfffff. The fifth column ?
• Well you know… the north-vietnamese that spy and pray on the dumb American who come to Hanoï for a good time !
• Oh ! That’s what’s a fifth column his ! Pffffff.
• So tell me ? You got high and ?
• Well I’ve confused The Rolling Stones and Hendrix.
• How can this be possible !
• Acid !
• Yeah I’ve got that but how ?
• I don’t know, was at that bar, and the music was… I saw that the music notes had colors !
• That’s dope.
• Really is !
• Man, I have enough of all this shit… Miss home y’know.
• How many did you smoked ?
• Wha’?
• Communists.
• Oh… I don’t know… everytime the captain tell me to shoot, I shoot. At branches, leaves, trees, grass…
• Yeah same.
• It’s like we’ve come here to do landscaping !
• Ah ! Yeah that’s it ! Never saw a single north-vietnamese diying by my hand !
• Brother ! The napalm is not to kill but to help us do our duty, landscaping !
• Ah ! You shit !
• Arthur ! Shepard ! Where the fuck are you !
• Pfff. Quick, throw the joint !
• Fuck no, I’m keeping what’s left of it !
• Well quick Shep’ for goodness sake !
• Shepard ! Arthur ! For Christ sake come on let’s go we’re mooving !
• Here Captain, on our way !
• Why are you two always together ? Do you folks have some secrets ?
• No !
• No sir !
• Pretty sure they fuckin’ captain.
• Marshall, shut the hell up would you ! Wait… what the fuck am I hearing ?
• Radio captain. I fixed it.
• Well bravo ! Next time put the volume higher so the ennemy can have a listen !
• Sorry captain !
• Let’s moove ! Forward !
• Here we go Shepard, landscaping for good ol’ Uncle Sam !
• So proud, here we go, doing our duties ! Earning a living ! For the free world ! »

Jaskiers

The old men and his old coat. (A short story in english)

[WARNING : I’M NOT FLUENT IN ENGLISH]

[Ceci est une petite histoire écrite en anglais, ou du moins, j’ai essayé]

—

He woke up, same things as always.

« Sadly » he would have told you.

He glance, like every morning, at his wedding picture placed on his bedside table. « Audrey was beautiful this summer day » you would have heard him muttered as he slowly get up from his bed.

Achille, his old labrador, come to lick his right hand. « He know my bones are failing me, he is very intelligent ».

He put the radio on, Bob Dylan just finished singing about his meeting with a tambourine man when he hear the unfamiliar voice of a news anchor. « I used to love listenning to this station because nobody speak ! Look like I’ll have to find a new one to listen to. »

While he struggle to pour his black coffee, he mumble again. « Looks like no one want to shut up nowadays, everyone have something to say and, worst of all, they wan’t to be heard ! We can’t live if we have to stop to listen to everyone griefs. »

He sat down at his kitchen table, his whole body shaking and let out a gasp of relieve when he is finaly seated.

If it would have been a regular morning, you would have seen Jim stiring his spoon in the coffee cup at the rythm of a random folksong. « The day Dylan put the electric on his shoudler, that’s the day the music ended, I tell you », He would have say. But no stiring today, the news anchor was speaking.

« This night, at 2 AM, the Goldiathy attacked his neighbour, Davolidy. The tension have been building for months between the two states. »

« Ah ! Hear that Achille ! War ! What mens are the best at ! Let’s hear some more Achille ! Let’s hear the reason for that war, you’ll see Achille, they always find a reason to start a war, but the real stupidity is the reason why they will continue to kill each other, listen ! »

« Poldummy, president of Goldiathy since 20 years, declared that they attacked Davolidy, stating a fear of aggression by the davolidien. The american intel warned the president of Davolidy of the bellicist project and probable aggression by the goldiathien since months. The multiple meetings between the two presidents seems to have not de-escalete the growing tension. »

« Hear that Achille my boy ! They attacked they’r neighbor by fear of being attacked first. That my boy, this is a very very normal and basic excuse to start a war ! Christ ! How stupid ! Ah ! But now, let’s listen how much damage have been done, listen, civilians, Achille, civilians, the ones who haven’t asked for nothing, listen, how much of them have been killed. What Achille ? Yes, you right, maybe some soldiers died but you see, the civilian often are the one dying first and, yes I tell you, they’re always civilians victims, most of the time, they’re is more dead civilians than dead soldiers. Listen ! »

« The first attack was by shelling on the davolydien capital, 10 civilians dead, 2 were kids, 100 hundred others injured. »

« See Achille see ! Hey you ! What ? Bing bang boum ! Why did you kill me ? I don’t know really, I just do what I’m told ! But am no soldier ! Can’t really control the bomb, my bad. »

« The davodylodiens president, Kelevenven, retaliated by ordering the bombing of the goldathien capital. 5 civilians dead. The world expressed they’re worries and stressed that both part should go back to diplomatie. But goldathien troups crossed the border and fierces fights are currently occuring at the… »

« You know sometimes Achille, I think history repeats itself like that… I don’t remember who said that but it’s true ! Yes, Achille we will go for our morning walk but do you know why I always wear that dirty ol’ coat ? No ? That’s the only things I’ve kept from my deployment in Vietnam. I threw away everything Achille, medals and all ! Useless ! That coat was usefull, still use it ! Audrey hated it ! She used to say that when I was wearing it, I didn’t looked like myself, that somehow, she probably felt this with that instinct womens have for seeing invisible things that affect mens, I acted differently when I was rocking it. Yeah I know let’s go ! Wait, one more thing Ulysse, do you know who won the Vietnam war ? Well, The deads ! Because they don’t have to endure life anymore ! And somehow, I’m sure, they ended up in heaven. Like Forgety used to sing, they were’nt fortunate sons. Anyway, enough rambling for today. Let’s walk ! »

The old man put on his old army jacket, who was laid on the chair next to him, and get up without difficulty, no more shaking, no more rambling about the pain.

He ties Ulysse on his leash, open the doors, the sun is bright, you could almost see his dark silhouette changing. His back straight up as he close the door with confidence.

Jaskiers