Inception. Deception. Defeat.
This Moroccan-French girl from Annaba, the way I held her hand and pulled her away from the graffiti-stained darkness, I could feel the electricity running throughout my veins, and for the first time in my life I wasn’t shy, worried, hesitant or afraid, it just felt right, and I knew it was, from the smile I saw shining in her eyes.
It was only the second time we meet, but that moment I had to admit to myself that, maybe after all, I had my charm.
Hastily we gathered the scattered bills of whatever it was that had to be paid, I wanted to kidnap her away from this desert maze, I wanted to pay it all though I knew I had no money, but then that was the only way we could be free.
Two police men stopped us and questioned us about who we were and what we were doing in the dark alleys of Paris at this late hour; I was an artist, she had the soul of one, and she wandered the nights looking for spare change and a free bite to eat, but somehow now they disappeared and we were back running with a smile larger than the walls around us and the streets under our feet, and the warmth coming from her cold hand crawled through my nerves and set my heart on a fire I didn’t feel since the departure of my queen of sand.
I had to wash my face, I could no longer breathe, she was still there, holding my hand, staring into my eyes, waiting for me to fall into my final sleep.
But then I inhaled one more breath and she was gone, I opened my eyes and everything disappeared, then darkness fell again and I fell into another trap, I tried to write down her name, tried to write down the memories, but the pen was broken and every blot of ink became a cloud of smoke from another explosion, I wrote down the names and the stories but they all came to an end, they were traces of burning oil dripping from a burning military convoy, as I was chained to a weird machine in my old home’s kitchen, and I was questioned, and I was tortured, and I was raped, all in the presence of a fat Russian General, he wouldn’t let me go until her memory was gone.
But her memory still lives. And one day, we will meet again.
H.Q.
13:52
Monday 04/08/2014