Bonsoir à tous,
C'est un petit texte que j'ai écris spontanément. Je ne suis pas un maître du Queen's English alors il doit y avoir quelques erreurs. A titre indicatif, j'ai écouté la Symphonie n°6 de Tchaïkovski en écrivant...si cela peut vous aider.
Bonne lecture à tous.
It is the end. I could not even say why…Because I do not know. I just don’t know. In truth, I have never known anything…of this world…of its people. Them! They are so spiteful…so heinous. How would…could I know them? And why would I? Some people told me that I should try to understand them. Some others told me that I should be…No! It’s too horrible! It is too…horrible. They say I should look like them. They say I should be the same. And…as I am but one feeble man…I did not dare to answer…I can’t speak anymore. My voice…This voice. Oh humanity! They were all supposed to help me! And now look at me! Who am I? What am I? Nothing…No one…I am a ghost in a world of ghosts. Another ghost…They do not see me. They cannot see me. They do not hear me. They cannot hear me…In truth: they don’t want to hear me. They don’t want to see me. Why would they after all? I could not blame them for not wanting to see me.
It was the end. I thought everything would be better. I thought everything would be lighter. But all I saw was darkness. The darkness of their damned souls…Angels, demons…That is nonsense! Those things were built by them because they wanted to hope. The hope of a better future…Nonsense! I did not see that light. The light I was supposed to see, the light they promised me I would see. How could I have believed them! A promise is nothing but a lie! Their promises are lies! I guess I hoped. I was hoping for a better future too…Oh humanity! Fire and ashes, storms and riots, disease and hatred. They did not see. They did not want to see because they were hoping. But there was nothing left but despair. Tears of shadows…tears of angels. I could have gone somewhere else…I guess. But where? How easy it is to say that we do all have a choice. What choice? There was no choice. There is no choice. There will never be any choice. The truth is…that there is no beginning.
It will be the end. They did not care. Everything was made of light. The world was as white as the snow. The Gods were as brilliant as the sun. The oceans were a mirror to the skies and the skies were a mirror to the oceans. The cities were shining, the bells ringing, the trees growing. They were all so joyful. A bliss! They were too joyful…So joyful that they did not see the shadow growing in the spirits of the mortals. Because they realized…They thought they would live forever…Idiots! No one lives forever. No one has. And no one will. They should have known. They should have thought…But they didn’t. I did. But it was not to be spoken of. It had to be forgotten…But I would never forget…I saw everything growing…everything dying. Philosophers were slaughtered…writers were murdered…I was almost burnt. But I left…I left before they could have burnt me. No soul is to be burnt. No secret is to be forgotten. Everything has and will be told.
I did not tell everything. I do not want to tell everything. They would kill me if I told such things. I will tell those things. But not here…not now. In another world in another…time, I would have told them. But it is not my end. It is not my time.