December the 6th

Thirty years have passed on that late summer night..



Countries changed, seasons no longer existed, new species were born, and old ones eradicated.



The sky was no longer blue and the oceans have been transformed into huge pools of wine.



Juliette got married to the head of an oil company in Iraq, and Cupid went to war in Azerbaijan.



Paris lost its name and glory to the exponential spread of McDonald’s and Bush’s pastry chains, and now became the city of LEDs and Pancakes.



Music was transformed into low band frequency waves that emit global cold news and awareness of the danger of feelings, broadcasted from a small chip planted in one’s head, with a rusty robotic voice that was known by the name of Logico.



Lady D, Britney Spears, Aretha Franklin, Sia, Feiruz, JKJ, even Shakespeare and many many others got their names forgotten and prohibited to be mentioned ever again.



It was illegal to feel.



[…] And he, just like the rest of the herd, woke up every day at exactly 6:35 AM, did his daily exercises, ate the same breakfast he’s been eating for as long as he could remember: a tasteless piece of bread, 2 pills of God-knows-what the government wants you to have, and a glass of tap water.



He left his house, just like the rest of the herd, to go to his daily job that was once appointed to him, but unlike all the others with neutral gray expressions he had a distinguishable sad look upon his face and every time he asked about it the answer was always the same: You were born like that. And that answer was somehow good enough for him to hear.. Until the day where everything all of a sudden made sense again.



It was December the 6th, at night, the rain was pouring down like an angry god, the freezing air could almost cut thru his bones, he was walking with his sad face back home from work when he heard the sound of familiar footsteps behind him in that dark damp alley, so familiar that his feet stopped, and for a second or two so did his heart.



- Honey, honey! The sweet voice behind him in the shadows softly whispered.



He didn’t turn around. No one ever called him Honey. At least not anyone he remembered.



The footsteps got closer, so did the warmth, the forgotten mystical perfume, and the words he’s being called with for the first time. Her Aura engulfs him and he feels a sudden rush of long lost energy fighting its way thru his veins. Everything makes sense now.



He turns around to meet her eyes, merely breathing her warm breath, and he stutters out:

- I still remember the feeling of your soft lips.






Happy Birthday from France