No Bullshit I was only nine the first time I had that dream. At that time, I had no idea what it meant. Or what would mean one day, to be more precise. As expected. The blinding white lights, the car horn wrecking the unnatural silence, the squealing of the breaks and the darkness that fell afterwards were nothing but a dreadful nightmare. A nightmare like any other of the many I had every night. At least that’s how it felt that very first time I have almost come to feel nostalgic about. Oh, that blessed innocence that made a nine-year-old frightened girl go back to sleep without giving it further thought. Over time, other dreams, and also other nightmares, made me forget about that one in particular. I don’t remember how long it took for it to come back, for me to wake up at the sound of the horn and the tyres melting and the metal and glass scattering all throughout the pavement. I must acknowledge that not even then did I pay much attention. After all, it was not the first time at all that one of the episodes of "Dreadful Nightmares Catalogue" had a rerun on "SleepTV". Every few months at first, then every few days, that car would skid and mow me down. The moment came when it wasn’t even scary anymore. I would see it draw closer, at maximum speed, that car whose colour I could never remember when I woke up, and I would welcome it with arms open, knowing that once it knocked me down everything would go dark. Just that. Dark. Then, the clumsy, awkwardly painted white lines under my feet, the smell of burning rubber and the sound of that damned horn would make way to another episode. A "Nice Dreams Catalogue" episode, if I were lucky. I even got to wish, at bedtime, they were rerunning "You’re run over by a car" on "SleepTV", instead of "You get eaten by cannibals in a far off place", "A serial killer wants you dead", or "There’s a malevolent spirit in your house". I guess I had grown used to it, and it seemed to be far more unlikely than being chased through dark woods by a madman with a chainsaw, or having my reflection in the mirror coming alive and attacking me. That was before I met you. You had nothing to do with it, I think, but it suddenly felt as if I could now hear the horn and the squealing of the breaks taking over my every sense. I didn’t need to be asleep anymore. You’re run over by a car was now live on "DaydreamTV", where there used to be pictures and movie clips of the good times yet to come exclusively. I clearly remember that evening on the phone. I was sitting, legs crossed, in my sister’s bedroom floor, as always. I can’t recall what we were talking about before, or after —maybe you do, you were always better at details than me—, but what I do know is that you were the first person I told about it all. “I’m going to be run over by a car and die”, I said. “That’s bullshit”, you answered. “No bullshit”, I assured you, “I’ve dreamt it. I’ve been dreaming about it since I was nine. Always the same. Before I turn nineteen, I’ll get run over by a car and die”. You didn’t ask me how I had reached the conclusion that my dream was not just that. You probably knew, the same way you knew all those things no one had told you. I’m sure you also knew that car was already setting its gears in motion and that the moment of our encounter was coming closer, unstoppable. I bet you were even aware of the result of the crash. And yet you let me believe I was going to die.

The Secret Of The River I was taking a late night walk. It had been such a stressful day that I couldn't bear to stay another single minute inside four suffocating walls. I didn't even stop to change my clothes, even though it wasn't the most comfortable thing to do to go into a park with my business outfit and heels. Still, I happily wandered to the far end side of the park, smoking a cigarette and enjoying the silence. That park was usually full of people of various ages and occupations, but at that time only the ducks at the small lakes across the vegetation inhabited the place. I wasn't really paying much attention to the road, or anything around me. My cigarette slipped between my fingers when I set foot on a river whose existence was totally unknown to me. I quickly took a step back and examined my shoe and the haunch of my trousers just to find that they were not only wet but stained by a red brownish substance. It was disgusting, and it turned into more than that when I got my phone out of my pocket to light up the area and look for the heel piece I just realized was missing from my now ruined shoe. There was a corpse just a few inches away from where I had set foot, it was her blood that was now part of my foot, shoe and trousers. For a moment I stood still looking at her, paralyzed in fear, until I was finally able to unlock my phone and make an emergency call. I had only heard the first beep of the line when a sound of someone walking upstream towards me scared the hell out of me. It only took me five minutes to reach the park gates and just another three to get home, when it would have normally taken me three times longer. Exhausted and half barefoot, I opened the door of my apartment but I didn't have time to close it behind me before I collapsed on the floor, victim of an anxiety attack. Someone did close it, nonetheless. I didn't answer the emergency call, having let my phone at the scene. They never found her. Neither did they found me.

A dare at the depths Wish a whisper was heard over the silently silence. Solitude is only solved by imagination now that there is no opportunity for me to find a fire-side to stay. Guess I heard a snake, but be silent, there is no one in the immensities of the wild woods. Could it be? I'm sure I heard a human sound. Humble home, there is no way to go. They're here, hungry and harsh as a humble bee. I'm a host with no home, an alien prey. It seems the stars are sad now that there's no turning back, when I say goodbye. If only I were human, my death would not be a dare for them at the depths.

Blue Like an artist with his palette, the world draws itself in colors. Above the brown earth and green fresh grass in which your feet walk on, the arch of Heaven extends in light blue. The golden Sun hides itself sometimes under blackened grey clouds which brings rain, and there are times in wich both of them, mixed up, draw in the sky all colors together, harmonizing, so a beautiful rainbow can then be seen. In the black dark night, gleams the silver Moon, surrounded by flashing bright stars. Every second there are thousands of rosy lives. Lives receiving lilac flowers, Love with red ones, rooms of white or green where colors seems to lose their vivacity. And Death, the one we have always thought to be the queen of darkness, the Reaper in black, is not so. It's just a moment in which colors change and fade. Red in your blood whitens, your eyes darken and languish, your lips are rosy no more and breath abandons you while caressing them. Booted from your body the element of #life, once your breath has gone, your skin has that color, even just for a moment, before it chills, pale and dead. So it's Death, after all. Blue.

Here Lyes Here lyes the lake my tears left on the ground. Here lyes the shade of the years that passed by. Here lyes, at the end of the path, scarlet grief and silver sorrow. Here lyes the end and the silence, covered by the light earth which will keep inside the secret all unknown. Take care of broken memories, of deep cries never going out. Waiting is part of our lives as it must be now part of your goodbye. Here lyes the last time you hold us with a smile. Here lyes the love you could not save. Here lyes the golden sun at Heaven's door. Here lyes your #life.