I only have the opportunity to glimpse a stretcher bearing a form covered in a white cloth. At least, it should have been white... Dear god, no... It seems that the walls past which the stretcher was carried became crimson, pouring more agony into this place. "Get out of here!!" It's my father, not dead yet, my mother is already dead. A "nurse" will not let me into room 11. I demand to see the baby. The nurse leaves, and returns with two, one in the crook of each arm. "Which is it?" I cry! The nurse babbles: "She was a very courageous woman but her body simply couldn't cope with giving birth to twins..." "Twins??". 
				

A worrying sight is offered to me,
Unceasing bounces of a child's head.
On that long white wall of the endless corridor that Paralyses me.
I only hear a noise : bangs in my head !
My eyes turn around the door,
They persist on a woman with an exhausted look.
Now dressed in white, prisoner of her hands...
I want to help her.
I can only hear a howling that reverberates.
Her grim glance makes the reflection of my anguish Neutralize me
(I cannot see those horrible pictures that are turning in My head anymore !) 
				

Somebody please stop or kill me...
I cry my suffering to drown the noise sent out by XY-TÄH and D-ÄN.
The torture of my little brain is starting now to drive me insane. 
				

I have to move house soon. The previous occupants will be arriving in January and I only have three weeks left behind me. Did I say I wasn't getting younger? But the people round me were? I should have more of "me" as the days reverse, but I no longer seem in alignment with the time line I once knew. I was never born in the world through which I'm travelling backwards, I'm nothing, a scrap of flesh, haunting this dull past life. I no longer have parents: dead when I wasn't born. The only thing I have of them is a photograph yellowed and faded by who knows what time, with faces blurred into nothingness. A decision! I shall search for my new future by tracing my past! I'm getting colder and colder... But I can find no document, no trace of my life. Not a hint of myself in the archives. For me, existence stopped the day it became the day before. I shall investigate the hospitals in the north of the country. I found this vague instruction on the back of my parents'photograph. Then I can ascertain those died in childbirth on the day I came into being! But for now I need to wait... 
				

The hour of my birth approaches: the color scheme in this place makes me bilious. Today it's my birthday. The faces of my mother and my father suddenly become clear on the photograph. Now I know who to look for, I rush through the hospital corridors to find them. Then I hear a scream. A man has just jumped under the wheels of a truck outside. Then I hear "He just couldn't deal with the fact that his wife was dead. You know room 11?" 
				

I try to search through my mind,
I try to free my soul.
My soul? My mind? What am I now?
An entity?
Endless corridors made of dusty mirrors surround me, Reflecting the being
I once was, stained with blood and bathed in tears.
He holds out his hand into my direction,
I have to help him to save my soul!
I have to return to find my exit...
Wandering through the lobby I have found my way.
I open the door, as I'm hit by a blinding light.
I hope I'll be free. Will I ever be free?... 
				

I can hear myself howl when the window's runges come
(My scream becomes shrill).
Finding my spirit again,
I open my eyes.
Anthea's hand is in mine
(Our pale faces, our mouths big opening...)
I see myself through her.
Terrified, I push back their hands.
(One supervisor comes in and disturbs our affair :
« Did everything do on ? »).
Mugges by these words,
Anthea thrown onto me,
Start to gnaw my shoulder.
My blood's view in her mouth seickens me.
(Pity for her who meets quickly like a prisonner).
Pity for her in her never-ending hand-held folder.
(I can see myself through her...) 
				

As I stared at the babies again, one of them duplicated the subsequential motion of my head and I suddenly found myself, out-of-body, walking in the nameless cold, and blowing winds. Am I dreaming? I stop walking. And kneel, close to... I understand now, it's all coming back to me. And it's my brother who is knelt down at my side, close to the death. I have become. I see my reality. I am submerged in water from the waist down, I had fallen through ice too fragile to bear my weight reforms and I am immobile, trapped like a wicker man that will never burn! Now I remember the exact day when it all started. it was the day I arrived in the north pole to visit my brother, voluntarily hermitted there. I had to walk a long time in the cold to reach him. In fact I never reached him. I didn't have time to see him try to extricate my imprisoned body from the ice. But I do Know he let death come to him too, by my side. Now we'll never be alone. Forever... 
				

The cold has become my friend, recognizing me every time we meet, despite the fact that for years I never visited! Today I feel a presence close to me, each day on, I feel it more and more... Woken one night by a strange impulse, I made up my mind to confront the cold once more, to quest for something as yet intangible! After many hours of struggle, I struggle, I suddenly espy a shadow, ensconced within the ice, partly jutting out like a tree branch, erect and unmoving. As I move closer, I see the wood take human shape. I have reached my destination. I attempted to drag out my brother's corpse, imprisoned in the world of ice. The ice clasped him fast around his pelvis, I could not free him. I do not know whether I laughed or cried. Then, so fast I hardly knew, I was asleep at his side... Forever. 
				

I've crossed the threshold,
I'm now adapted to the light.
But there's nothing to see,
No walls, no ground, not one part of my body.
I feel attracted and aspirated.
I can see sparkling in the darkness,
It begins to draw nearer, it's going to take me.
I turn towards the door.
As it shuts the light fades away.
Duty for a boundless wall, the thing is now clear.
It's a kind of crystal cube.
I'm unable to overcome it's attraction,
The touch is imminent.
An unknown painful phenomena begins.
A flash shows me my parents.
They are keeping vigil over my dead body... 
				

The Cure's song

It doesn't matter if we all die
Ambition in the back of a black car
In a high building there is so much to do
Goin' home time a story on the radio

Somethin' small falls out of your mouth and we laugh
A prayer for somethin' better
A prayer for somethin' better
Please love me, meet my mother
But the fear takes hold
Creepin' up the stairs in the dark
Waiting for the death blow, waiting for the death blow
Waiting for the death blow

Stroking your hair as the patriots are shot
Fightin' for freedom on the television
Sharin' the world with slaughtered pigs
Have we got everything? She struggles to get away

The pain and the creepin' feeling
A little black haired girl
Waiting for Saturday
The death of her father pushing her
Pushing her white face into the mirror
Aching inside me and turn me around
Just like the old days, just like the old days
Just like the old days, just like the old days

Caressin' an old man
And paintin' a lifeless face
Just a piece of new meat
In a clean room
The soldiers close in
Under a yellow moon
All the shadows and deliverance
Under a black flag

A hundred years of blood
Crimson a ribbon
Tightens 'round my throat
I open my mouth
And my head bursts open
A sound like a tiger
Thrashing in the water
Thrashing in the water

Over and over
We die one after the other
Over and over
We die one after the other
One after the other
One after the other
One after the other
After the other

It feels like a hundred years
Hundred years, hundred years
Hundred years, hundred years
				

Massive attack's song

You are my angel
Come from way above
To bring me love

Her eyes
She's on the dark side
Neutralize
Every man in sight

To love you, love you, love you

You are my angel
Come from way above

To love you, love you, love you
				

Ange's song

Mother loves daylight, however, today, in this gloomy church, she's not complaining.
Usually she complains about it all the time.
The priest speaks lowly. Mother, who is hard of hearing, again, says nothing.
Everybody is watching her. She hates that but, today it doesn't bother her.
Mother is dead.
Me, I'm near to her, I speak to her. She can hear me, I knowit, I feel it.
She's close to me. It doesn't trouble me.

I can see her the other night, sitting by the fire. She's old. Suddenly, a noise outside.
I knew what it was. She didn't hear it. She let me get up to see... a man before me.
He cast me a cynical smile while pretending to hit my mother. I cannot move. I know this man. I turn my head. My mother is there.
We continue to talk. "What were we talking about"?

There are lots of people in church today, for you mother. Everyone so sad.
"What you are not? Who is speaking to me? Who is there? Is it you mother?"

While I stroll around the garden, Mother makes our tea. It is dark.
Dizziness - fall - earth - rain.
Later an armchair, "Mother, where's my tea?" I'm soaked. I go into the kitchen. Mother is on the floor, her head smashed in. I knew. I'm not sad.
In the mirror, the man smiles back at me. The same way as the night before. In my mind, I see the scene again. It was I who killed her.
In the garden, I knew that she was lost. I didn't want to hurt her.

Not I, yes I, it is I.
I understand.
I - church - death - straitjacket - asylum?
Me - madness - murder - mother?

It was so cold last night. Sorry mother.