I am an orphan.
My country brought me to this world and left me, alone in the shadows, naked in the midst of darkness.
I cried for a long time, but no one came looking for me. Then I had a thought: men love flowers. Maybe, if I blossomed, someone would recognize me. I became a worker, I gave with all the ardor of my soul, so someone would call for me.
But no one seemed to take notice. I thought of calling them, but to no avail. They should have music in their ears, that is definitely preventing them from hearing my cries.
Then I started to scream. I realized that it was already night time, and in the black of night my cries were muffled.
Then I was blinded by a gleam, a piercing stare in the middle of the night. My gaze was fixed on it, following it around; I protested, I sang the hymns of my country and I danced. No one seemed to understand my language.
Then, the glow came closer and showed me her face. Her name was Hope. She was young, but downcast. She was a newborn with eyes soaked in blood. Her wounds frightened me, I was petrified.
I spent a year watching her, but the glow soon went out. At that moment, I lost my eyesight.
Shortly after, it started to get cold, I was looking for some heat to keep my breath. I was breathing heavily, but a flake settled on my nostrils. It had spikes all over and a very odd shape, one that I never saw before. Gradually it got heavier, my breath got weaker, and it became impossible for me to catch air.
I struggled, kicked with all my forces, I fought with my whole being.My body was now abandoning me, it lacked warmth.
I looked around, only one fire was burning in the horizon. It was called Revolution. I carried it in my heart; it alone kept me alive. It shone for a little while and began to wane. It disappeared and with it my life.
As I rubbed my hands together to try to keep it alive, as precious as it is, a deafening detonation broke out. I was stupefied.
I couldn’t move and I couldn’t hear.
Deprived of all my senses, I had only a heart that was beating slowly, its beating receding. So I tried to get my mind running again, but my skull had taken so many hits that it was bleeding profusely.
I searched for my words but could not find any more ideas, nor any ideals. I was brain dead before I could claim my freedom.
I was finally looking for a meaning for this life of mine that remained, this fragile piece of life, which no longer has any value to my eyes, which frightens me more than it comforts me.
I am inconsolable. An orphan, dead and inconsolable.
