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Short story: to the ones we’ve lost, loved before..





Names based on records found on the internet, story based on imagination..


As the water poured on him, he stared at his feet, unable to look up, unable to face his reflection.

Twenty years.

After few minutes, he left the shower tube heading back to his room. Yet nothing about him changed. It is covering him still, the smell he’ll never sniff again is still on him, nothing is washed up. It’s stuck there like a second skin; pealing it off hurts, washing it out hurts, but keeping it hurts even more.

Twenty years, and he still plays that night over and over in his head. It was never twenty years ago. It was twenty years ago every passing day.

He didn’t even feel himself fall asleep with his wet towel on, as he started thinking about it all, again.

She looked at the sky above; it was summer time, but winter has been here for so long now, and grey was all you could see, no matter how hard you try.

She hurried back home. Soon it will get dark and she can’t be out when it does, not after what happened to her neighbor last week.

 » Took you long enough young lady, where have you been all day?  » said her mother as soon as she stepped into the house.

She smiled at her sight, as she heard the giggles from the living room as loud as the silence that filled every place for two years now.

 » Lennaaaa! » screamed her little brother, stopping her from losing herself in the never ending cycle of worrying, running his way through the kitchen and hugging her legs as if his life depended on it…

After dinner, she headed to her room, lit a candle, and to its dim light, she started writing the letter she have been aiming to write the whole day.

Waking up to the sound of screams, firing guns and marching soldiers, Helena felt it was going to be a long night as she hurried out of her room, leaving everything behind.

Smoke, everywhere, sofficating every living being it found on its way. She was no exception.

She coughed. Yet all she was thinking about at that moment was getting to the opposite room.

A matter of life and death.

Preferably life, probably death.


Unable to spot him in the room, she panicked and started  screaming helplessly  looking for her brother through the dense smoky room.

« Joe! are you here? »

And then she heard sobs, and she has never been happier to hear him cry.

He was alive.

Hiding under the wooden bed, Joeseph held his small legs tightly to his chest, and cried silently.

« Joe let’s get out, come on! »

« I am scared. » he whispered the words, as if saying them, admitting them, was what scared him, not all of this mess.

She looked into his eyes, those little brown eyes she adored…

Far too young to die.

So with her brother curling in her hands, she made her way out of the now crushed room to the window at the end of the corridor. She saw two bodies pressed against each other, under the ashes across the living room.

A tear escaped her eyes, but it was no time to cry. Her arms tightened around Joeseph; it was time to survive.

Jumping out of the burning house, the sight made her panic : people running everywhere, every way, screaming, crying, some are just staring, probably shocked and others are lying on the ground, probably dead.

She filled her lungs with air that smelled like flames and sweat, then she started running, too.

They knew this was going to happen, but not this soon, not like this, not tonight. She didn’t even finish her letter. Most of the time, we’d like to believe there is one more chance tomorrow, most of the time, tomorrow never comes.

She ran, not caring about her surroundings, not caring about any person around her. She moved almost out of instinct; her body moved, her eyes were on the way ahead of her, her mind completely elsewhere.

She knew where she had to go. They had played this scenario over and over again, and it was just time to act it out, to play, and win their lives.

She closed her eyes for an instant, remembering the sight her mother under the ashes, her father holding her in his arms, and even if it was impossible, she prayed they would make it, she prayed even if she knew so well that God can’t answer.

God, the reason why she lost everything that mattered to her. Believing should’ve never been a crime, a reason to kill. Yet for centuries now, it was. It is. And here they are, all of them, paying the price for a God they will never even see.

And while Helena was lost in her thoughts about God, the devil himself was approaching her from behind.

He started talking to her and pointing at a truck parked in front of the now burning synagogue.

He had blond hair, blue menacing eyes, and as he spoke to her with a foreign language vulgarly, she stared blankly at all the kids that were now in the truck, already wearing the striped uniform.

It’s funny. Sometimes, your whole existence as a human being is alienated by a piece of clothing.

He stopped talking, as if  waiting for her to go there while she was just unable to do anything.

Now what.

Hatred begets hatred. (La haine engendre la haine.)

Her eyes never leaving his, she pulled out the knife she hid, always, under her clothes, and before he can even understand what was happening, she stabbed him in the stomach.

Blood, all over her hands, but the sight of red meant there was a chance to make it.

Then she ran fast, taking a side way . She ran as fast as her shaking legs could handle, until she was where she was supposed to be. She saw that some of her little group members, were already there, and she was thankful that they were alive.

 » Lena, thank god, hurry inside we are closing the doors in ten minutes », said Isaac, putting his arm on her shoulder as if he knew, consoling her.

 » Is Berta here? »

Isaac didn’t utter a word, he just nodded as if he knew what she was thinking, and he did.

 » Only ten minutes left Helena, I am sorry. »

And with that, he left her standing there with her now sleeping brother in hands that just took a life away.

If only he could wake up when all of this is done. Would God grant her that wish?


She put him down, in the corner of the street, and after placing her own scarf around him, she stood up, and started helping people get inside.


She can make it, I swear. She thought, as if to calm herself.


But then, it happened too fast, another blue-eyed man smirked her way, holding a shotgun in hand, facing what she cared about the most.


Seven. Six. Four. 

She jumped, too fast that she wasn’t even thinking.

And all of her life flashed in a moment, at that moment, but all her life was that one little face sleeping peacefully in front of her, for so long now, but not enough, she wasn’t saying goodbye, yet.
He was worth dying for, and she smiled feeling the bullet inside of her now, as her body got heavy, as her breath got heavier.. for a second, for the last second, she thought she must smile, because, she won’t give them the satisfaction of killing her crying, of making her brother take the burden, because her last heartbeat told her he will live, for her sake, he will.


She whispered her last breath, hoping he was awake to hear it


 » I love you” , falling on top of him, as if she could hide him from death.



« I love you ».

It was as soft as the wind, but he could hear it, and it was enough to wake him up. He knew the voice, even if it felt eerily far away. He felt her body on top of him, and panicked as her chest wasn’t beating against his fingers as it always did.


He looked instantly at her now lifeless eyes, but before he spilled the tears out, he saw the genuine smile on  her pale lips, and he knew it was for him. So he stayed there feeling her warmth, for the last time, fading away, and he knew, that this was the end even if he lived. A hand grabbed his, dragging him inside a building she talked about a lot when he slept secretly with her to keep the nightmares away, while someone cried over her holed body.

The doors closed.

Ten minutes up.

He cried along with people inside.

For the rest of their lives, it was 1941 every day, but it was ten minutes every single minute for him.

And it was a warm smile that makes it okay to cry, because it was so long ago, but every day feels like a new goodbye.


He woke up, wore his clothes and drove himself to work.
As if.




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I'm 20. I like music. I like writing. I like anything related to arts. I am an introvert. That changes when I am around people I know . But I am good with public speaking. I'm good at reading other people (through body language).

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À vos plumes

Appel à la réflexion : L’ingénierie vous lance un message






Vous les INSATiens, quelle définition donneriez-vous à l’ingénierie ?

Pour moi l’ingénierie dépasse tous les stéréotypes que l’on peut se faire sur le sujet : « L’ingénierie, c’est un travail d’homme » ou encore « Un ingénieur, c’est sûrement un geek matheux toujours collé derrière son écran ». L’ingénierie se situe au-delà des clichés, car outre l’étymologie et l’histoire pour me donner raison, elle signifie avant tout pour moi  la conception et l’ingéniosité.

L’INGÉNIERIE, une discipline dont l’appellation est si singulière et qui embrasse pourtant toutes les connaissances scientifiques et techniques formelles du monde. Pouvoir étudier un projet, l’administrer, lui appliquer des règles physiques, mathématiques et des sciences plus fondamentales. Ça vous paraît facile ? Essayez donc pour voir !

Si l’ingénierie  a participé au façonnage de l’état moderne, il n’empêche que son utilité a vu le jour dans plusieurs civilisations. L’Égypte Antique, la Grèce Antique, les Romains…Toutes ces civilisations ont vu grandir des créations inconcevables pour si peu de temps et de matière à portée de main. Comment a-t-on pu créer l’originelle pyramide égyptienne, la pyramide de Djéser, ou encore l’éolipyle, la première machine à vapeur au monde ?

Rassurez-vous, mon but n’est pas de vous ennuyer aujourd’hui en vous étalant toutes les informations présentes sur Wikipédia mais de vous emmener dans un voyage vers le passé, le présent et l’avenir, vous faire aimer ou non ce qui sera votre futur métier. Une seule clé en main qui me vient à l’esprit, le personnifier. Oui, ma décision est de rendre vivant ce qui vous a vous-même rendu vivants.

Sans elle, nul n’aurait imaginé le monde d’hier ou de demain. Le premier qui a osé lui faire honneur est celui qui vous a fait la plus grande des faveurs. Un seul mot a suffi pour vous ouvrir les portes des domaines les plus improbables, le militaire, l’agriculture, le civil et j’en passe.  En bien ou en mal, pour la guerre ou pour la santé, elle vous a agrandi comme vous a ruiné.

L’ingénierie est l’intrus qui dès qu’il entre dans votre vie, vous ne pouvez plus vous en passer. Rien que dans les plus petits sujets, elle a son mot à dire. Elle manipule, elle promeut,  elle encourage ceux qui vous font du mal ou vous laissent perplexes, comme cette électricité statique qui vous punit d’éclairs furtifs lorsque vous vous rapprochez trop vite de quelqu’un.

Aujourd’hui, elle vous change tous sans exception.  Elle est impatiente, elle veut à tout prix accélérer votre monde, vous rendre robots, drones et autres. Elle veut vous aider en prenant votre place pour que vous puissiez vous occuper de ceux que vous aimez. Elle ne veut plus que vous ne touchiez à rien, elle veut être présente partout, tout le temps.

Elle veut vous faire rêver comme dans Inception, vous faire explorer vos plus sombres secrets, vous aider à surmonter vos peurs les plus suffocantes ou vous pousser à toucher le Saint Graal. C’est une guerrière. Elle veut briser les barrières de l’inconnu. C’est une musicienne. Elle veut créer la parfaite harmonie entre votre conscient et subconscient. Je vous l’ai dit, elle est une manipulatrice. Elle veut les rendre lucides, ces rêves, changer leur scénario, y inviter d’autres comme vous.

Vous pensez certainement qu’elle pourrait résoudre tous vos blêmes psychologiques, qu’elle donnerait la main à tout le monde, même aux plus faibles ? Qui pourrait me garantir qu’elle n’est nullement une usurpatrice, que tout ce que j’ai écrit jusque-là ne sont que des leurres ?

Demain, ses partisans iront au défi de l’éthique, ils ne reculeront devant rien pour créer quelqu’un de mieux que vous, votre surhomme. Leur projet ultime serait d’atteindre l’apothéose, la pérennité des Dieux. Vous ne pouvez ou ne voulez pas raisonner en leur faveur. C’est compréhensible mais il n’en reste pas moins que c’est possible. Certes, Il n’est pas dans l’absolu qu’elle puisse soigner votre vieillesse car l’avenir est incertain mais vous vous y accrochez. Vous vous y accrochez dur comme fer car vous voulez l’immortalité de ce qu’elle crée, de la matière qu’elle assemble et rassemble.

Alors oui, elle voulait vous aider au départ, vous tendre la main, mais vous, ingrats que vous êtes, vous en voulez trop. Vous voulez la vie de Rick et Morty, les existences alternatives, les paradoxes de la réalité et tout ce qui suit mais pour moi, il ne me vient que l’image d’un crime qu’elle a commis, la perte de l’humanité.

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