THE COLOR OF THE STORM – work in progress – upcoming book.

Extract I :

Inside the small town where you lived stands The House of the Gisant, a funeral chapel hiding a 16th century statue made of Baumberger stone, depicting a human corpse devored by worms.

Your grave is located 500 m from there, 3,5 km from where the flames surrounded you, 92 km from where you died, 7 km from where I currently live, and 190 km from where I thought you’d appear on one foggy summer morning.  

Lately, I observed this distance eroding more and more. I wanted to get closer to it, and now I feel your veil draping my mind; I see your face on mine, the sky turns black instantly.

I can almost discern an attic through the clouds, burning endlessly.

I still can’t read you. All you left behind was lightning strikes and the color of the storm in our eyes. I needed to know how you left to understand where to search. 

You couldn’t fully deliver your message.