Chronicles of Mystery

Thousand voices, Thousand echoes

Anna was sad, she felt all alone, the other children didn't want to play with her. They rejected her, they were always making fun of her, pushing her, hitting her. Anna felt alone. She had always felt that way. Then there was cold, hunger, poverty. She was always hungry, she ate the potato peelings when she found them, otherwise she sucked the pebbles on the ground, taking them for forgotten crumbs. Parents always looked sad. They no longer smiled. Not enough strength to do it. The gentleman had arrived, he had promised Mom and Dad things. They had had sparkles in their eyes, they had said yes, without hesitation. Anna had been taken in front of the gentleman. He looked strange. He was scary. Anna didn't want to. But she had been scolded. It was better for everyone. The gentleman smiled oddly, he was nervous, constantly agitated. He had laid her down, he had tied her up... He had hurt her, so badly... He had cut her on all sides, cut her into pieces. She felt like she was dying, a frightening word, a notion so distant and abstract for Anna. And when she thought she was leaving, when she thought the torture was over, she came back. She had been brought back to life. The gentleman was joyful, he was shouting, he was moving all over the place. Except Anna felt different. Anna no longer felt Anna. She saw, she heard, she breathed as before, but she was no longer Anna. She could no longer speak as she wanted, she could no longer do what she wanted. She was tied up, her memories, her mind, held on a leash by an almighty force, she could only contemplate what was around her, without acting. No, Anna was no longer Anna. Anna didn't care anymore about feeling alone, if she could have cried like before, if she could have been sad like before. Everything was erased, blurred, tarnished. Anna was never hungry now. She continued to eat, because she had to, but she could have eaten stones or earthworms, it would have been the same thing. Mom and Dad weren't smiling anymore. They weren't crying either, they were silent. They didn't get angry after Anna, they didn't hugged Anna. And Anna said nothing. She too was silent, she only watched.

Jack had children. Jack also had grandchildren. Jack would have wanted to give them all the wealth in the world, Jack would have wanted his children to always be happy, he would have wanted them to never know pain. Jack had had a wife, but that woman had died, silently, vanishing from his life, with nothing to replace her. Jack wished those he loved never had to go through this. Jack wished they were protected from everything. This is where the man arrived. He had offered things. Miraculous things, hardly believable. But Jack wanted to believe it. He wanted it to be true. That this man could really do what he said. He had accepted his proposals. He had given him everything: himself, body and soul, and, even more precious, those he loved more than anything in the world. He had believed, he had hoped. But he had believed too much, hoped too much. Today, he couldn't. Today he was lost in perpetual darkness. He no longer felt the pain. He couldn't hurt anymore. He could no longer act on his own. But he couldn't hug his family anymore, tell them how much he cared for them, how much he would have done anything for them. He could only look at them from afar, very, very far away, empty and expressionless, like him. He couldn't feel the pain anymore, he couldn't feel the tears anymore, but he also couldn't feel the happiness anymore, the joy, he couldn't laugh anymore, he couldn't smile anymore. He was frozen. Lost in the maze of his mind, lonely. Simple spectator, prisoner of his body which was no longer really his. He had lost himself. Every night, the same nightmares, the same memories. And he couldn't die, for everything to end, he couldn't forget. He couldn't even open his mouth to scream, to call for help, to apologize, to ask for forgiveness. He was gagged. Thoughts filled with regrets he couldn't express.

Peter was young. Everyone always told him that. He had his life ahead of him. He could do anything, with ambition. That was what he was always told. But Peter had no ambition. He didn't want this long life waiting for him, this whole life expecting for something to end it. Everything had always seemed dark, boring to him. He didn't want to try, he didn't want to face pain, suffering. Peter had always been afraid of everything, he preferred not to venture into dangerous, unknown things. It was then that the man came. He had offered him this solution, this certainty. This escape from life, without the fear of death. Peter had agreed. He had rid himself of his anxieties, he had been able to say goodbye to all his uncertainties. He had abandoned himself to this oblivion that was given to him. But Peter hadn't just fallen asleep in a reassuring, comatose slumber. Peter had not forgotten, as expected. Peter had felt, had felt everything. And when he woke up after the experience, Peter had continued to have this worry about life, this constant anxiety that tormented him. The only difference was that now his body no longer belonged to him, no longer responded to him. Peter was still young, but Peter no longer had his life in front of him, because his life was no longer his own, it had become someone else's plaything. Sometimes Peter wondered what he could really have done, what he could have filled his life with. If he had tried. But Peter had been so scared, he had left everything behind, even the possibility of going back. He thought he would escape the anguish of having to choose, the anguish of having to live his life. It was true that, from now on, he no longer had to ask himself questions about it. Truth be told, Peter didn't have to wonder about anything anymore. Was this what he had wanted? It was the last thing he could really wonder.